In Pacem
by Bodmin
Summary: After the birth of their son, Louisa and Martin are trying to find a way to live together and care for their child, when Martin has to cope with another blow. Will this tragedy make the bond between Louisa and Martin stronger, or will it tear them apart?
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Louisa came home after her routine check up with little Peter. Martin was supposed to come with her. After his confessions in the pub he had followed her to the hospital. When the first excitement was over Louisa had asked him where he was going to stay, now that he had decided not to go to London. He had looked quietly at her and shrugged his shoulders.

Louisa had felt obliged to offer for him to stay at her place. After all, he had abandoned his high class job for her, to stay in Cornwall with no job and no home and all his belongings on their way to London. The least she could do was to offer him a roof over his head. So Martin had moved in.

He had insisted on staying in the spare room, which was fine with Louisa. It was strange enough after the difficult time they had lately that he was sharing her house, but sharing her bed would feel odd at the moment.

Nevertheless, Martin tried really hard to pay her back for the accommodation in taking over many of the duties around the house and he had proven to be very helpful, even if he wasn't completely at ease with Peter yet.

This morning they were meant to go to Truro hospital for a general check up. They were all ready to leave, when Martin's mobile had rung.

"Yes…WHAT?...What happened?...Where?...Damn!...I'll be right there."

"Martin, anything serious?" Louisa had asked as he had sounded very upset and all the colour had left his face.

"Sorry, can you go down to Truro on your own? I have to dash off."

"Well, if you have to?"

"Yes."

Then Martin was off.

Now Louisa was back at her cottage. She looked around downstairs and then shouted upstairs, but Martin didn't seem to be back yet. Louisa started to prepare the meal. She hadn't done so since the birth as Martin had always cooked their meal.

While she was busy in the kitchen, Martin came in and without a word stormed upstairs.

"_And good afternoon to you, too_." Louisa grumbled. Then she heard the door to his room slam. That was indeed unusual for Martin. Louisa thought maybe he needed some time to himself and didn't want to be disturbed, that's why she continued with the cooking. Then she had a look at Peter who was still sleeping peacefully after their little journey. She took him upstairs, then placed him into her room where the cot was. Still no sign of Martin.

She went down the hall way and knocked on the door to Martin's room. No answer. She knocked again. When again there came no reply, she peeked in.

"Is everything alright?"

"Fine."

"You don't look fine."

"I'm OK."

"You're also acting strangely."

"No."

"Tea's ready."

"I'm not hungry."

"You must eat."

"No."

"Do you mind if I come in?"

"Yes."

"_Thanks very much_." Louisa mocked and came in.

"I said that I _do_ mind. Can't I have any privacy at all?"

"Just tell me what's wrong. Maybe I can help?"

"You can't."

"Thanks very much. Sorry for being concerned about you."

"I told you, I'm fine."

"You sure don't look fine. A bit shattered, if you ask me. Your eyes even look as…have you been crying?"

"That's enough! Out!"

"That's a thought! Throwing me out of my own house!"

"Not out of your house, but I thought this is my room!"

"Your room in _my _house."

"Right, then I'd better go." Martin stormed towards the door, but Louisa blocked the way out by standing in front of it.

"Not until I know what's got into you. Must be connected with the phone call you received."

"None of your business. Let me out."

He tried to pass her, but she moved around to be in the way. He tried to grab the door knob to open it, but then Louisa locked the door and let the key slide into her blouse.

"So, what are you going to do now!" she triumphantly said. Martin and she hadn't been intimate since they had called off the wedding, so she assumed correctly that he would never have the nerve to reach into her blouse.

"Great, now I'm a prisoner in my own room." Martin sighed and slumped onto his bed.

"Just tell me what's worrying you. Is it too much to ask?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"It can't be so bad…" Just right now Martin's mobile was ringing.

"You mind if I answer it?" he sneered.

"Don't mind me."

"But I _do _mind. So if you please would…" He gestured towards the door.

"I'm staying." Louisa declared firmly, crossing her arms in front of her. The mobile kept ringing. Martin looked desperately from the door to Louisa then back to the mobile he held in his hand. Finally he sighed and answered it, trying to ignore Louisa.

"ELLINGHAM…Ah, Mr. Shawcross, I hardly dared to hope that you would call back….I'm sure you've been. Shall I come over to discuss things?...Right.." Martin looked at his watch "…in 40 minutes then."

"Louisa, open the door. I have to go."

"Shawcross? Like Mary's partner?" Mary was Louisa's new midwife. She and her partner William had recently moved down from London as their older children were studying or working all over the UK by now and they wanted their little son Thomas to grow up in the country. They had decided that looking for jobs shouldn't be too difficult, as she was a midwife and he was an undertaker, and people are being born and dying all over the world.

Louisa thought Mary was very nice. She had a warm and compassionate nature and really was a big help with getting used to the baby routine. Louisa had heard only the best about her partner, too, as William seemed to be a very compassionate, sweet man who was perfectly suited to aid people in their darkest hour. He didn't just bury the dead, but was a true counsellor to the bereaved.

"The same."

"But he's an undertaker. What do you want to see an undertaker for?" Louisa was puzzled.

"I won't see him at all if you don't open that stupid door!"

"Not until you tell me. Who has died?"

Martin gulped and looked away. Louisa could swear she could see tears welling up in his eyes.

"Must be someone close.…Don't tell me….It's not…tell me it's not Joan!" Louisa exclaimed.

Martin was furious now. "I do have an appointment. Let me out!"

"Martin, that's awful! You must feel horrible. Shall I come with you?"

"Out! Now!" Martin shouted nervously. "Oh, never mind. I'm really sorry Louisa, but I have to get out of here!" He lifted her up with comparative ease and placed her back on the floor beside the door. Then he started trying to smash the door with his shoulder.

"STOP! Martin, you win!" He stopped immediately, before he had damaged the door. Louisa got the key out and unlocked the door. Martin wanted to dash off immediately.

Louisa stopped him once again. "Just how did it happen?"

"Do you remember when Aunty Joan said I'd have to run her over with a lorry to keep her away from Peter?"

"Yes?"

"Someone did."

"What? What do you mean?"

"Run her over."

"Oh Martin! That's horrible!"

Before she could say another word, he went off.

_To be continued…_


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Louisa remained on the spot, thunderstruck. Slowly she composed herself enough to go into her room. She picked up her son and cradled him in her arms.

"Your poor Daddy. And Joan had been so happy when you were born. She would have been a tremendous help." She cried, still cradling her baby. She thought back to Martin's behaviour. It had been so unlike him, he really must be deeply troubled. But why couldn't he have told her? Didn't she deserve to know?

Time went by without a sign of Martin. Louisa started to eat alone. It was strange, as she hadn't had a meal all by herself for weeks. She realised now what a difference it made to have Martin as company. Poor Martin.

Several hours went by before Martin stormed in again and headed right for the stairs.

"Don't you want anything to eat?"

"NO!" and he was upstairs already. Again, she could hear the door slam.

Later, Louisa prepared her baby for the night, then went over to Martin's room. She knocked gently. No reply. She knocked harder. Again silence. She softly called Martin's name through the closed door. No sign that he had heard anything. She went in and noticed that Martin immediately turned to his side, facing the wall.

"Go away!"

"Martin, don't you want to talk?"

"No."

"I'm so sorry about Joan."

"Great."

"Do you want to come over, to my bed, so that you aren't alone?"

"I've been perfectly able to sleep on my own since I was one year old, thank you just the same."

'I just thought you might need someone. Especially tonight."

"Just go, please."

She stroked the back of his head. "If you're sure, but remember, I'm just next door and you can come to me whenever you like."

He sniffed, then turned around.

"By the way, Louisa, tomorrow I'll be off."

"You're…WHAT?"

"You have enough on your plate, you don't need me to make it more difficult."

"You've been a tremendous help the last weeks! I certainly wouldn't know what to do without you!"

"I won't be any good now."

"If you're worried because you'll need some comfort, then I understand completely. Especially then you should stay so that I can take care of you a bit."

"No, you shouldn't. I messed my whole life up completely now. It's not fair to drag you down with me."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh Louisa, let's face it. I have no job and no place to live. I have lived upon your generosity for long enough. What's more, I won't be of any use in the next weeks. First I have to organise this blasted funeral. I'm also useless at that. I have no clue whom to invite. Then I have to sort out Aunty Joan's things and try to solve all the legal matters. I would be just a burden for you. You have enough to do with Peter."

"Martin, you don't honestly believe that I'd let you go now. Now that you need me more than ever before?"

"Please, Louisa. Don't make me feel bad. It is not your business. You wouldn't have been involved if I _had_ taken the job in London, so you're not involved now."

"But that's just the point, Martin. You said you made a mess of your life, but _if_ that's true, then you did it because of me. Five weeks ago, you were designated head of vascular surgery at Imperial in London, with a flat to live in and not a care in the world. If it hadn't been for me, you'd still have it. But you _chose_ me and the baby instead. Sorry if you think that means messing your life up."

"Since then, I'm a mere appendix to you. You are not responsible for the choices I've made and you should not pay for it. Sorry, I can't accept this."

"Maybe I can help you with all that's coming up? Besides, you have already contacted Chris, and he will find a job for you soon. And Martin," she placed her hand on his, which was lying on the sheet "I _really_ don't know what I would have done without you. You really saved me."

Martin was not convinced. "We can talk about it in the morning. I'm tired." Saying that, he rolled back to the side, facing the wall. He was sure he couldn't hold back his tears for much longer, but Louisa shouldn't see him like this.

Louisa sighed heavily. She stood up, indecisively she stood in front of the bed, finally she bent down and ran her hands over his short-cropped hair. She placed a light kiss on his neck. "I hope you'll sleep well, and in any case – remember I'm just next door. You can come whenever you like."

She went over to her room. Peter was sleeping peacefully. How she envied him right now. Not a care in the world. His only needs were being fed, a fresh nappy and a good sleep. Most of all he was not afraid to cry if he felt something and let others know he was in need of some help. Why did people have to change in that respect?

She was sure that Martin had been crying, and supposed he would do so now. Why couldn't he accept her comfort? She would love to hold him right now, trying to comfort him, showing she was taking care of him. She also knew if she hadn't left his room, there would have been no chance that he would have let himself go and would have just clammed up, no matter how many superhuman powers he had to apply.

She thought back to the last months. She should understand him, really. How much had she longed for a hug, some support, and some love from Martin. But what did she do? She had rejected him not to force him into a relationship. She didn't want to be a nuisance to him, so she only cried when he couldn't see it. Well, except for once when she couldn't help but burst into tears in front of him. He hadn't known why she was crying. Well, maybe she wasn't so different either.

Only the life-changing experience of their son's birth had led to an outburst of emotions from both of them. For the first – and only – time ever they both let the raw emotions show they felt for each other. This outburst had brought them together.

Now he was confronted with the other big driving force of life. Obviously, he stubbornly insisted on going through it alone.

_To be continued…_


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

In another little cottage in Portwenn, William slumped onto the bed to cuddle close to Mary. This day had been hard for him, too, and the two of them sensed when the other one was in need of some comfort. Mary took his head into her lap. He curled beside her, getting comfort from the closeness. She ran her fingers through his wavy, thick hair.

It took a while before he finally spoke.

"I met the partner of your client Louisa today."

"How is he?"

"Strange fellow. Very old school. I have to bury his aunt. It seems he's her closest relative. He tried to appear completely uninvolved. Nevertheless, he seemed to be deeply upset, even though he didn't want to show it."

"Everyone's saying he's a bit odd. Some even call him tosser. I've heard most think he's an arrogant bastard."

William paused and thought about it, relishing her comforting caress. "I can see how he could give that impression." He lifted his head up a bit and looked up at his partner. "Somehow I think there's more to him." He placed his head back into her lap and caress. "He tries too hard to appear to be an arsehole. I've seen dozens of genuine ones over the years. Somehow funerals seem to lure them out of their hideouts. Maybe it's the inheritance that acts as a bait, I don't know. They all try hard not to look too obvious, but their natural meanness always shone through."

"With him I have the opposite feeling. What does your client say about him?"

"Louisa? She doesn't talk much about him. Just warned me not to believe a word local gossip says about him. I noticed, however, that they sleep apart."

"Is it true that he gave up his high-class job to be with her and the baby?"

"Yes, obviously. That's why he's staying at her place. Imagine having a baby together and never having lived together, nor properly living together now."

William turned around, laying on his back, his head in her lap and gazing up to her. "Doesn't that prove how much he loves her? It's just what I mean. He seems so cold, but somehow I can't help feeling that there's a lot more going on underneath that thick skin of his."

"That's what getting to you?"

William nodded. "I don't know how I can make him face his feeling of loss. He was sitting there, talking business as if he was buying a bloody car. He didn't ask if he could see her. He was totally confused when I asked for the addresses for invitations and letters. But he's not stingy. He wants to have the best funeral he can get, but then again doesn't know who shall be there to see it."

"I'll be seeing Louisa tomorrow. Maybe I can talk to her?"

"Yes, maybe. After all, it will be too late for a proper goodbye as soon as the funeral is over. How's she?"

"She's a darling. If all clients were like her, I'd have the best job in the world. She's a natural mother. She'd do everything for her little son. I just have to see her still as her birth was a bit odd. Imagine, bumping into a rock on the moor causing the water to break and then giving birth in a pub in the middle of nowhere." William started to caress the beautiful face of Mary. How he loved her laughing eyes. "She's completely smitten with the little fellow. He's a nice boy. She says there can't be anything wrong with him, considering how often Dr. Ellingham seems to check him over."

Slowly the caressing of the two of them deepened and soon, other people's children or grief were no longer of any concern to them.

To be continued…


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

When Louisa was woken the next morning by the unmistakable signs that her son needed her, Martin had already left the house. Louisa sighed, while she was feeding and cradling her son.

"Peter, can you tell me what we can do to help your Daddy? You're as much his son as mine. Maybe you can understand him?" She only heard him burping, but that wasn't a helpful answer. Louisa kept cradling her son.

Then she went down to have some breakfast. There was no sign that Martin had eaten anything at all. Louisa prepared her first lonely breakfast since Peter's birth. She thought about the short talk last night.

She suddenly panicked, as she feared Martin might have left her for good without a word. She let her toast drop onto the plate and rushed upstairs. She entered Martin's room and stood nailed to the doorstep. She sighed relieved as she saw all of his belongings still there. Obviously he intended to come back, if for nothing else but to pick up his clothes.

Just then she heard a knock on the door. She rushed downstairs, hoping it would be Martin. Opening the door, she gasped out disappointedly.

"Good Morning, Louisa." Mary said cheerfully.

"Oh, Good Morning, Mary. Sorry for the welcome. It wasn't personal. Come in."

"And where is our good little boy this morning?"

"Sleeping. Would you like something first – tea, coffee?"

"A coffee would be nice."

Louisa fumbled around while Mary placed herself at the kitchen table. Louisa put a mug in front of both of them, then stared out of the window. First they drank in silence.

"Have you settled in already?" Louisa finally asked, still staring out of the window.

"That's not too difficult. The villagers are really nice to us, and you surely have a beautiful spot here. Perhaps you don't even notice _how _gorgeous it is when you've lived here for all of your life."

"I know that, and I really love this place." Louisa turned towards her midwife. "But don't let it fool you. It's not always as nice as this. Just wait for the winter, when the gales make the sea look as if it's boiling, crashing the waves against the rocks."

"Winter is bleak everywhere."

"But it doesn't transform London the way it transforms Portwenn. I've lived in London. I spent the last winter in London." Louisa sighed. "I even missed the storms."

"Now you're back and little Peter can grow up here. Must be a beautiful spot for children."

"It sure is. You have the whole village to support you and the whole Cornish countryside for a playground. Your Tommy's a lovely child. You must be very proud."

"It's the only child William and I have together. We both have two kids each from former relationships."

"What happened to them?"

"Oh, my former partner was an arsehole and I realised I couldn't trust him with children. He simply lied whenever it suited him."

"I know the feeling." Louisa sighed.

"That's why you broke up?" Mary asked concerned.

"What? Why?"

"Oh, I just heard that you and your partner had broken up and just came together after the birth."

"Oh, you mean Martin! No, he's as honest as the day's long. He's absolutely dependable and brutally honest. He couldn't lie even if his life depended on it."

"I thought…"

"No, my father. He was a cheat and liar and thief. My mother took the easy way out. She couldn't stand his lies anymore and so she left, _without_ us children. Dad brought us up, the best he could."

"So maybe you understand why I had to leave my partner, keeping my boys away from him?"

"Wise decision. What about William's wife?"

"She died in a car crash."

"Sorry to hear." Louisa sighed. Those bloody cars. "Speaking of cars – is he preparing a funeral at the moment?"

"I think you know he is. Speaking of it, I promised William that I'd speak with you. He is concerned about Dr. Ellingham."

"Why, what has Martin done?"

"Nothing. That's why he is so concerned."

"You mean he isn't organising the funeral at all?" Louisa asked in shock.

"He's planning the funeral alright, but as far as I understood it, he's doing it in the same way he would settle any deal. He doesn't seem to care, doesn't seem to mourn. However, William doesn't think that it is cold-heartedness on his side, even if some villagers think…"

"Yes, they think he's a cold-hearted, arrogant bastard and tosser. I know the sneering remarks."

"Well, William thinks he just doesn't know how to mourn and is afraid he will miss his opportunity to say goodbye properly because of that. I promised him that I'd talk to you."

Louisa sighed. "Your William's a sweet man, and he has a deep knowledge of human nature." Louisa sipped her tea. "I tried to talk with Martin about it. I really tried. He just clammed up and turned away." Louisa got up and walked towards the window. "This morning he must have left early. I didn't see him at all." Louisa turned around to face Mary. She had to get things off her chest, and Mary seemed to be a good listener. "Actually, he declared last night that he'll move out, as he would just be a burden to me. Of course he isn't, he's a big help, but now he needs support and doesn't want me to give it. He said I have enough on my plate with Peter already."

"So you think he has left?"

"No, he can't have. His things are still here. I checked."

"So where can he be?"

"I've no idea. I would have said he's at Joan's farm, but now there's no point. He has no one else to confide in. No friends, no family. She was his only support. More than I ever was – maybe more than I can ever be."

"Then William's right, he _is_ devastated."

"He would never show it. He doesn't show his feelings. He only told me he loved me once, and that was only after I made him drunk deliberately."

"William says it's essential that he takes his time to say goodbye properly. He just doesn't listen. Can you talk to him?"

"I can try, but I doubt he will listen to me either."

"What do you mean? What kind of relationship is this?"

Louisa sighed. "That's a good question." She sipped her tea, then looked over to Mary. "If you know the answer, you can tell me."

Mary laid her hand on Louisa's. In her job, she had come across all kind of relationships. Abusing fathers, dominating mothers to pregnant teenage girls, mentally disturbed women endangering their children and even husbands that harassed her while their wives were giving birth to their children.

"Tell me, Louisa. What is the problem between you two? You know, caring for a child is more than feeding and burping him and changing his nappy. Most of all it's providing a safe environment to grow up in."

"Martin tries. He really does."

"Tries to do what?"

Louisa made a vague motion, waving her hand in the air. "Oh, the whole fathering business. You can tell by his screwed up nose that the smell of the nappy is utterly disgusting to him. He is very sensitive to smells. But he changes the nappy without any comment."

"He hardly talks to anyone, and he surely doesn't know what to say to a baby, but knowing that the sound of the voice is important for the development of children, he talks to Peter. He describes to him everything he does, not knowing what else he could say."

"Martin's a stickler about his night sleep, but when I prepare the bottles, he gets up in the night and takes over feeding him every few hours."

"Since I've been out of hospital I've not had to prepare one single meal – before last night, that is – as he took over the kitchen duties without being asked and without a single word of complaint."

Mary squeezed Louisa's hand. "Sounds like the perfect partner, so far, but…"

Louisa sighed "Yeah, sounds great when you talk about it, and I probably shouldn't be complaining."

"That's not what I mean, but I noticed you sleep apart?"

"Well, we…never mind."

"Come on, get it off your chest. There _is_ something bothering you, and if it affects the partnership of the parents, it sooner or later affects the child. So I'm really just asking out of professional concern. I'm not the gossiping type."

Louisa looked into the encouraging eyes of her midwife. She was right. Louisa had to talk to someone, and now that she couldn't confide in Joan anymore…

"See, it's always been difficult with Martin. Between Martin and me."

"What's so difficult? You're not sure if you love him, is that it?"

"Well, yes….or…no, not really."

"That makes it a lot clearer." Mary smiled towards Louisa, giving her hand another squeeze.

"I shouldn't have made him a father. It's not his sort of thing." Louisa walked over to her son, sleeping peacefully.

"So you trapped him into the pregnancy?"

Louisa looked shocked towards Mary and only her sleeping son prevented her from shouting towards her that she would never do such a thing. Instead, she vigorously shook her head. Then, in a low voice confessed. "No, I suppose we just got carried away." Louisa smiled down at the result of their moment of passion.

"Martin is such a stiff shirt, and always repressed – and he got carried away once in his life…and now look at the consequence?"

"So he wanted an abortion?"

"I wasn't around when that would have been an option."

"But you supposed that he would?"

Louisa sighed. She thought back at what he had said when she turned up on his doorstep – and then about how he turned out to be with his son. Finally, she shrugged her shoulder, shaking her head slightly.

"I really don't know. Martin's such a mystery to me."

"But there must have been _something_ that brought you together. Something that makes you two stay together."

"Are we?"

"What?"

"Are we both staying together?"

Mary watched her client going over to the window to stare over the harbour.

"You see the stone cottage at the other side? That's where he used to have his surgery. He still owns the house, getting rent from the current GP. That's where he used to live. Before he moved out to go to London." Louisa sighed, then turned around. "But this is not London."

"Does he have any regrets?"

"Funny thing – I don't know."

"But you must talk?"

"Sure – what we will have for dinner, if another check-up is due, which alterations to the house will be necessary next to make it child-proof. Things like that."

Mary looked in disbelief. Sure, she had seen all sorts of relationships – but these two people didn't even relate to each other.

_To be continued…_


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter 5_

Mary watched Louisa looking sadly across the harbour. Then she asked. "What was your relationship like before Peter was born?"

"Which relationship? Did we have one? I sure don't know."

"You must have been together long enough to create this wonderful little chap."

"How did you meet William?"

"I was sick being alone with my two boys. My former partner was an arsehole, and the man I had been dating before was a mere child himself. So I got myself registered with an agency."

"Really? I thought things like that never work."

"It worked for us. William sees lots of people in his job, but not necessarily ones that are interested in a partnership. So he had a look around at several catalogues of different agencies. He saw my introduction clip, and just wanted a date with me. He subscribed, just to have a chance to meet me. How about you and Martin?"

"Oh, I had visited friends in London before I had to turn up in Newquay for the job interview for a new GP, as our old one had died. I'm on the panel committee, you see. Fate had it, that Martin was the applicant, and also sitting opposite me in the plane on my way back. I didn't know at that time that he was the candidate. He just kept staring at me."

"So he was smitten from the first glance?"

"I also thought he was just pestering me and told him, he had a problem. Then I stormed off. It was quite a shock to see him at the interview, and I sure gave him a hard time."

"And?"

"I was the only one against his appointment, and therefore outnumbered. After he had been told that he got the job, I went to him to give him a piece of my mind. He simply pulled my eyelid down and declared '_It's acute glaucoma. You should see an eye specialist today'._ Then he went off"

Mary laughed. "Not very romantic."

"I guess it was a bit like that all the time. I'm trying to make contact to _Martin _Ellingham, and Dr. Ellingham is answering me."

"Peter proves that there must have been more. A lot more. And for quite some time, as I've heard that Dr. Ellingham took the post as GP more than four years ago. So you must have been together for quite some time."

Louisa thought back to that precious time after the proposal. The only time she could honestly describe them as _being together._

"Four weeks. One precious month."

"WHAT? You're not serious!"

"I can't say that we weren't interested in each other. We were tiptoeing around each other, but our orbits never met. How long did it take you?"

"William and I met in a restaurant first. We both were quite clumsy, so we had a good laugh together. But I was called out, as a client of mine had started her contractions. I called him the next day to meet again. He invited me to the pub where his band had a gig. I was smitten with his talents, and he was such fun to be with, that we couldn't bear to part. As we had arranged babysitters for our children anyway, we informed them that we'd be back the next day and booked into a hotel."

"Wow. Two dates."

"Well, I suppose we both needed it. I was alone for two years, William even for three. We immediately liked each other. So."

"Well, I suppose we were in need of a bit of love, too. As far as I understand, Martin's last relationship was about twenty years back, and mine was over for quite some time, too. But it took us three years."

"You mean…"

"It took me three years to make Martin make a move. And yes, I did most of the work on our relationship. Martin's not good in interacting with people."

"I could tell from the way he was staring at me that he was interested. He also was far more friendly with me than with anyone else, but he couldn't admit that he had feelings. I don't know if he just couldn't tell me, or if he couldn't admit it to him himself, either."

"Sounds…challenging."

Louisa looked up and nodded slightly.

"So why didn't you give up? I wouldn't have the patience to push someone for three years. If there is no spark in the beginning, you never hit it off."

"That's just the point. There was."

"But…how can you tell?"

"When he inspected my eye after that interview, I looked him in the eye, and there was something…something…_vulnerable_…behind this man who had just given the impression of an overwhelmingly confident man minutes before. Maybe I have a helper syndrome, maybe it was sheer curiosity…but I was interested in this man and what may lie behind the thick surface from the start."

"But when it was just one-sided…"

"No, I'm pretty sure he was interested, too. He ran into a door because he was looking back at me."

Mary laughed. "Sounds like a rough start."

"And it set the tone for the years to come. I tried to get to him, tried to make the path easy for him – at first. But whenever we managed to get a bit closer, he managed to spoil it."

Louisa shook her head. "You wouldn't believe what he has thrown at me over the years – that I had bad breath, that I was stalking him or that I suffered mood swings."

"That still doesn't explain why Peter's sleeping in that cot now."

"Well, I hit the roof at each of these occasions – making a scene at the chemists, slapping him, this sort of things. We sure had our share of rows. As long as it was purely private and he wasn't involved professionally, he stoically took everything I threw at him. He endured all my temperamental outbursts."

"And you couldn't keep away from him? Are eligible men so scarce in Cornwall that you thought you had to put up with it?"

"I could have had others, sure I could. They were just so…clingy…dominating…or simply stupid."

"You like being in control?"

Louisa thought about it for some while. "I suppose I do, in a way…yes." She admitted hesitantly.

"And you were in control in your relationship with Dr. Ellingham?"

"Martin never made a move. He doesn't come across that way, but he is very shy…basically."

"You're right."

"So you noticed it, too?"

"No, I mean – he doesn't come across that way."

Louisa sighed and smiled. "Maybe that's it. Maybe I'm a romantic fool for having this big idea in my head to make a difference to his life. Maybe I'm just a sucker for difficult _projects_ – or maybe it is because it is so rewarding when you actually manage to coax out glimpses of this tender man hiding behind the thick wall he has built around him."

"Glimpses – like what?"

"Oh, nothing big, most of the time – the way he stares at me, the way this sharp-tongued brilliant man starts to stutter, when he bursts out compliments and , then is shocked and all flustered about it, or when you realise he is about to make a compliment, before he collects himself and turns it into something silly."

"Like…"

"One of the first times I had invited him to dinner. I hadn't quite finished cooking when he came. He insisted on helping me – he is always eager to do something practical – but there was really nothing he could do. So he was standing around uncomfortably, watching me busying myself in the kitchen. As I was busy and didn't pay much attention to him, I suddenly heard '_Louisa, you look so very…'_, and then I made the mistake in looking directly at him and he blushed and burst out '…_busy'_."

Mary laughed.

"You're right, it is funny in a wicked sort of way. I didn't know at that time if I should laugh, scream at him or what."

"What did you do?"

"Pretend it was a compliment and thanked him for it."

Mary laughed again. "Still, makes the presence of that little bundle over there even more unbelievable."

Louisa got up and brushed her finger along little Peter's hand, who immediately grabbed it in his sleep.

"I'm sure glad that he looks a lot like Martin. I don't want to think about the gossip if he hadn't. I think no one could imagine Martin as a father."

"So how come?"

Louisa sighed. She didn't know if it was fair to discuss their relationship with someone else, but she needed to talk to find out where she was standing now. Maybe even to find out if there was a future for them. She sighed again.

_To be continued…_


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"Our first proper date. A friend of mine was in an amateur string quartet, which played at an open air charity concert. I had asked Martin if he wanted to accompany me, and to my big surprise he agreed. I dressed up to impress him, and when he picked me up in his car, opening the car door for me like a gentleman of the old school, eying me over, he was clearly nervous. I thought I even saw a sort of shy desire in his attitude."

"He looked absolutely edible, I thought. He is always meticulously dressed…"

"…so I noticed…"

"…yes, _always_ suit and tie and buttoned up completely. You can really count the occasions I have seen him out of his jacket on one hand, and I can remember but one occasion when he didn't wear a tie. Except of course for, you know…" Louisa blushed and looked down.

"But surely around the house…"

"When he cooks, he puts an apron over his suit, when he burps or changes Peter he has learned the hard way that it is wise to take his coat off, but his tie is just tucked into his shirt, so that it doesn't get spoiled."

"You must be joking!"

"Unfortunately not."

"That's pushing it to the extreme."

"Martin does everything to the extreme…extremely well or rubbish."

"Which brings us back to our first proper date…As I said, he's always meticulously dressed, but I don't know why, that evening he looked even more dashing to me. Or maybe it was the excitement of being out with him."

"We spent a reasonably enjoyable evening. He blustered out some inappropriate remarks during the break, but somehow I didn't mind too much."

"We were sitting on a blanket under some trees during the concert. I playfully put a tiny flower into his buttonhole. First he jumped and felt visibly awkward, but then he even helped me to put it in, carefully aligning it as if it was the most precious accessory. I never thought he'd go for it. And it was so touching that he didn't see the funny side of it. For him it was serious and because I wanted it, he went along. You could say by his puzzled face that he had no clue what it was all about."

"Later, I watched the concert intensely and suddenly realised out of the corner of my eyes that he was gawping at me. I wanted to smile towards him, letting him know that I noticed and that it was alright. As soon as I turned my head, be blushed, and nervously looked towards the stage. So we started this little dance trying to catch glimpses, although we were sitting next to each other."

"Sounds challenging."

"No, it was quite sweet, actually."

"Well, when the concert was over and we were on the way to the car, Martin fumbled clumsily until he got hold of my hand, and he was almost bursting with pride that he was holding hands with me."

"What an achievement." Mary said with mock admiration. "How old were you? Eleven?"

Louisa giggled. "Yeah, sounds like the first attempts of teenagers, I agree. And maybe there are even some of the older pupils in my school that have more confidence with the opposite sex and a bolder approach to girls than Martin has. But maybe that made it so sweet."

"It had all the innocence of first love, but at the same time I knew that this brilliant man had saved many lives – on a few occasions I had the honour to witness it. I guess that's part of Martin's appeal to me – he can do the most astonishing things, and then he's clumsy and innocent when other man would just _go for it_."

"Maybe then I made a mistake – I led him off the paths, where trees secluded an area from the main path, so that we could have some privacy. And then I kissed him."

"And from then on, he was lost… Male instincts work that way."

"Not Martin's. I admit, at first he kissed me back. Quite nicely. Then his medical mind got the better of him, and he started to babble about mood swings, pheromones and the menstrual cycle. The worst thing for me was, that he said all that in the most seductive voice. The sound of his voice that moment had haunted me in some confusing dreams for quite some time."

Mary laughed.

"Yes, it may sound funny when you talk about it, but having the deep love you're feeling reduced to hormonal imbalances, and to top it all having it pointed out that the perfume works on pheromone-basis and therefore smells urine-like…" Mary had to restrain herself hard now so as not to burst into laughter "…really did it for me. I stormed off."

"When he dropped me at home, I told him, I didn't want to see him again."

"And he was furious?"

"No. Somehow I wished he had been. He accepted it. He frowned, looked at me and drove off."

"I still don't see how little Peter came along?"

"Not wanting to see him again is one thing – but as the only GP in town."

"You fell ill?"

"No, my friend, who had played at the concert, came visiting me and when we went for a walk, slipped and injured her back."

"And you had to call Dr. Ellingham?"

"He's the only medical support around. I had no choice. It was awkward."

"I imagine."

"When he checked the next day, he was acting all weird, and I still don't know what it was all about. Moody – smarmy one minute, bellowing at me the next."

"He was mixed up?"

"Very much so. Nevertheless, he sorted Holly out, as he does with all of his patients. Unfortunately, Holly felt well enough to then rummage about in my kitchen, that's where I found her when I returned from doing my shopping."

"As Martin had suspected, she did something stupid. Managed to get herself cut badly, losing conscience, with blood spilling all over my kitchen."

"Ugh! Disgusting. So you had to call the doctor again."

Louisa nodded. "You know that he has haemophobia?"

"There are rumours, but I thought it was a bad joke."

"If it's a joke, then it's a cruel one life had played on him."

"I see."

"Martin came, assessed the situation, and when he tried to turn Holly over, who was lying on her back, he spotted a puddle of blood. He almost vomited. Then things got complicated. Holly almost died, but he brought her back to life, kneeling in blood, throwing up in between, but at the end she was safely handed over to the paramedics, who transported her to hospital. At that point, her condition was stable."

"I couldn't help but tell him, what an extraordinary man he was. He shook it off and left. So I thought. Standing in the doorframe, he proposed."

"What?"

"I was equally shocked. Out of the blue. When he reappeared in my room, he looked shattered and so terribly vulnerable. I couldn't help but run over to him, accepting his proposal. He swept me off my feet, literally, and I was walking on air."

"He was so wonderfully strong, holding me as if I weighed nothing, swaying me gently, and crying into my neck."

"I don't know how long we remained like this. Eventually, he had to put me back to the ground. Then I started to kiss him. Well, that's when we got carried away. Like teenagers, we didn't think about contraception. I just felt his body and was suddenly craving for it. He was nervous, flustered, insecure – but also not in a state to control himself or think about the consequences."

"It was our very first time that we were together. When I was alone in London – pregnant, single – I often thought back. I don't know if my dreams painted everything rosy-red as our relationship lasted such a short time, but looking back, it was the most perfect day."

"It wasn't just sex. It was an act of love. From his side almost an act of worship. He was so wonderfully concerned that he might hurt me or that I could feel uncomfortable."

"Getting him out of his bloody suit had been such a tremendous, wonderful, sensual act."

"He is in quite good shape, and seeing his…well, I don't know how to describe what I saw in his eyes."

"Love?"

"Not only – gratitude, maybe. An amazement. As if he couldn't believe it."

Mary laughed out loud now, showing the little gap between her teeth. She had a very friendly laugh, but Louisa looked at her puzzled and a bit cross.

"What?"

"I was just thinking that I can answer the question for you. The one I asked you earlier, and to which you didn't know the answer."

"What do you mean?"

Mary put her hand on Louisa's. "You do love him."

"I'm really not sure if I still do."

"The way you talk about him…the sound of your voice. There is no mistake. You do."

_To be continued…_


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Louisa sighed. Then little Glasson started to stir. She went over to the cot and picked her son up.

"Well, one thing's for sure." She told her offspring. "Even if you weren't planned, you're welcome just the same. Even though you need a bit of looking after, right now."

Just as if he had heard the cue, Martin turned the key in the lock and let himself in.

"Does he need changing?"

"Yes, how…"

"Doesn't get better by just staring at him. Give him to me."

Martin just shot a short glance into Mary's direction and frowned, then he took Peter, while placing a carrier bag in the kitchen.

"I've been at the grocers. Are there still some bottles in the fridge?"

"No, Martin." There was some annoyance in Louisa's voice. She hesitantly took the bag and peeked into it, then rolled her eyes. Martin didn't see it, as he was marching towards the stairs.

"Then you'll have to feed him."

"I _do_ realise that. Bring him down after you've changed him, will you?"

"Is your friend leaving?"

"Mary's the midwife, and no – she's not leaving yet."

"Then you'd better come upstairs for feeding, don't you think?"

"Martin, she's the _midwife_! Don't you think she has seen someone breastfeeding before?"

"Not you, I hope." That was the last thing to be heard before Martin disappeared to the upper landing.

Mary had followed this scene with amusement.

"Was that the man you talked about?"

"The very same – in one of his more irritating moods." Louisa added, looking ruefully towards the stairs.

"Why did you frown about the shopping? Don't you like him to?"

"It's just that I can't stand spinach or dried fruits or cherries any longer."

"Are those his favourites?"

"Nah, I think I could live with that. _They are rich in iron and therefore help building blood cells. We don't want you to become anaemic_." Louisa mocked Martin's tone a bit.

Mary laughed. "Others would like it if their partner was concerned about them."

"Not the way Martin is. You know, the first time he invited me to dinner, I complimented him on his cooking. What do you think was his reply?"

"I give up. By now I've got the feeling I will never get it right."

"_Optimal nutritional value._' Louisa mocked.

Mary laughed out loud. Just now, Martin's impatient voice could be heard from upstairs.

"Louisa, could you _please_ interrupt your amusement for a tiny second to feed your son? If you don't prepare any bottles, you'll have to live with it."

"YES, Martin! I do know that."

"Sorry to bother you." Martin sneered.

"_Peter _is no bother at all!" Louisa rolled her eyes and made her way to the stairs.

Finally Louisa reached her bedroom, where Martin handed her the freshly changed baby.

"I'll be off, then."

"Martin?"

"Yes?" He asked over his shoulder.

"You're not rushing off again, are you?"

"I've got a lot to do."

"I think we need to talk…."

"No time for chit-chat."

"No, Martin, not chit-chat, but it's important."

"Anything wrong with Peter?"

"NO! Can't we talk about anything else besides Peter or my health?"

"Some other time. I have to..:"

"So why did you turn up, then?"

"I wanted to check if Peter needed looking after. Now that he's fine…"

"But, Martin – I need you to…"

"Shall I cook you something? I can quickly do that."

"No, thanks." Louisa sighed. "I don't need you for that."

Martin rushed down the stairs, and before Louisa had finished feeding her son and was downstairs again, he was gone already.

"Entrance and exit Dr. Martin Ellingham." Louisa stated. "Sorry about that."

Mary looked at mother and son and thought about the father.

"Look, Louisa. He's going through a tough time with the death of his aunt."

"Yes, and the arrival of this little fellow." Louisa bounced Peter a bit in her arms. "And him giving up his London job, and having no place to live…" Louisa's voice trailed off.

"Dear me. A lot to cope with – all at once."

Louisa cuddled Peter. "But why doesn't he let me help him? You know, he offered to cook my lunch, but had no time to stay to talk."

Louisa and Mary talked for a while. After Mary had left, Louisa prepared her meal. After preparing Peter for bed, she went down to watch telly.

Still no sign of Dr. Ellingham.

Louisa started to worry. She had tried to reach his mobile, but the calls were not answered. She had no idea whom to call to get any information, as Joan wasn't an option any longer.

But where could he be?

Hesitantly, she called William Shawcross, as he was the only person Martin had gone to meet that day that Louisa knew of.

"Hello?"

"It that William Shawcross speaking? Louisa Glasson here."

"Oh, Louisa. It's alright to call you Louisa, isn't it? I've just heard so much about you from Mary, and she only uses your first name, so…"

"Sure, William, it's alright."

"So do you have the information?"

"What information? What are you talking about?"

"Oh, I just thought you'd called on behalf of Dr. Ellingham."

"No, actually, I'm calling because I've hardly seen him all day and I only knew that he had an appointment with you. Otherwise I can't think of anyone he could have met."

"I see. Dr. Ellingham came around to organize things, but that was in the early afternoon."

"You haven't seen him or talked to him since?"

"Sorry, no. He has promised me to send me the names and addresses for the invitations today, as he insists on going ahead on having the funeral on Saturday. We have to allow _some_ time for the guests to plan their visit. That's why I thought you called on his behalf."

Louisa paused for a moment. He had confessed that he was at a loss at to whom to invite. So he probably hadn't come back to Shawcross because he simply didn't know. Would it be fair to intervene, without being asked to help? On the other hand, would it be fair to Joan that none of her friends would escort her on her last journey just because her nephew couldn't cope?

"William, why don't you try to contact Muriel Steel about the guest list? She is – _was_ – one of Joan's closest and oldest friends. Even if she doesn't know everyone who should be invited, she would at least know where to get that information."

"I am not sure. I should probably confirm it with Dr. Ellingham first, as he has commissioned me."

"To be honest, I don't think Martin is up to this. He expressed his doubts of being able to come up with a guest list before. He has never been good with people, and he has a very poor memory for them, too. So I doubt he would even remember a third of Joan's closest friends. I'll give you the phone number of Mrs. Steel. I'm sure she will be more of a help. And _if _Martin should be angry about it, then tell him I told you so."

"I don't want to make your situation difficult."

"It can hardly be any more difficult between Martin and me than it is now. So don't worry. I can handle it. I think it's more important right now to allow Joan to have her friends around when she…"

"Yes, I will call her first thing in the morning. And don't worry, I won't pass the blame on to you."

"Just hold on a sec…." Louisa went to her handbag to get the address book with Mu's phone number.

"Alright, do you have pen and paper ready?"

"Yes."

"She lives in High Trees. The number is…" Louisa gave William the contact details. Muriel would be able to provide the most important names in no time. There was nothing wrong with delegating tasks if others were better suited to do them.

"Thank you very much, that helps me a lot. I can get the invitations out first thing tomorrow first class. I trust everyone will get the invitation in time."

"I suppose most of them will be local anyway. In that case it might work to ask Dave, our postman, if he can well – maybe be a bit more creative about the normal delivery route."

"I see. That's how it works in the country?"

"Well, we don't always do things by the book, if there are easier ways."

"Very sensible."

"Now maybe you can help me. Did Dr. Ellingham mention where he wanted to go after he left, or if he had other plans for the day?"

"Oh, I'm _really_ sorry Louisa, but he didn't say anything at all. I really can't help you there."

"Well, to be honest, it's way past his bedtime and I'm worried."

"Shall I come over and we can search for him? Maybe others will help, too?"

"No, William. That's awfully sweet of you, but I'd better look for him alone. He would be horrified if complete strangers or some of the villagers were out searching for him, worst of all if they found him…"

"…Mourning, you mean."

"Yes."

"There's nothing wrong with that. It is what he should be doing. No need to be ashamed."

"Don't tell me."

"What about Peter?"

"Good question. That's what I'm trying to figure out. I suppose I _can _put him in the car. It doesn't make much difference where he sleeps, does it?"

"Would you like Mary to come over and look after him?"

"That's awfully nice of you, but it is late, and I really don't want to..:"

"It is no trouble at all. Mary's right here and she's making it understood that she's more than happy to help."

"No, really. I think Peter will sleep just as well in the back of the car. I think I have an idea where to find Martin. So hopefully it won't take too long."

"If you're sure? But we are both happy to step in any time."

"Thanks, but tonight I think I can manage. But it's good to know anyhow."

"Bye."

"See you."

After they rung off, Louisa got her car keys and then carefully took Peter out of his cot. She got her car, placed her son safely into the car seat and drove to the only place she could think of where Martin might be.

_To be continued…_


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

When Louisa arrived at Havenhurst farm, she could make out a silver car in the pale moonlight. There was light in one of the windows of the farm.

'_So here's where you are hiding.' _Louisa thought. A quick glance at her son revealed that he was sleeping peacefully. "Well, young man, what do you think? Shall we go in there and have a look at your Daddy? Or would that be too embarrassing for him? Does he really want to be alone? Or is it just that he doesn't know how to accept help?"

Except for the sound of steady breathing there was nothing to be heard from her son.

"You're right, it's difficult. Why is your Daddy such a mystery – or is he just to me? I hope you'll understand him when you're older. It would be great if he'd find someone to understand him, eventually."

Louisa parked her car behind Martin's and looked over to the lit up window. She wondered what Martin might be doing there, late at night. She was still debating with herself if she should go in or not.

After about half an hour, the farm door opened and a tall shadow darkened the entrance. Louisa was wondering for a moment if he would come to the car and tried to figure out what she would say to him, explaining why she had been watching him from the car, but he turned in the opposite direction. Now, that the light of the window lengthened his shadow, she could see that he was holding something at arm's lengths. But what was it? It was something small, thin, that hung loosely in his hand. Now she noticed that it was pulled at occasionally, and following with her eyes the small item, she could see what it was. She could see, but couldn't believe it.

It was a lead, with Buddy jumping up and down at the other end. Martin tried to hold him as far as possible away from him, but the little dog looked for his company. If anyone would have told Louisa she would ever see Martin taking a dog out, she would have declared him mad. Now, in the darkness of a solitary farm, he did.

"I know what you would say, Martin. _It had to be done. I didn't have a choice._ But nothing has to be done. And many people do not do what they should do. Whatever we do, we do have a choice. And you're choosing to do the right thing."

"Gosh, you surely must have loved her, if you're even taking care of Buddy for her. You hate this creature, I know. Why are you always doing good things where no one can see it. Oh, Martin!"

The unlikely pair disappeared behind the corner of the house. Louisa watched the quiet scene. It took a further twenty minutes before they reappeared. Before going inside, Martin stopped on the doorstep, looked around as if he was quietly saying goodbye to the place, then he stretched before pulling the dog inside. The door closed again.

Louisa had expected that Martin would come to his car, now that he had taken care of Buddy. After all, this man needed to rest some time, but when a further fifteen minutes had passed by, Louisa got out of the car.

'_This has gone on for far too long. I'll go Bodmin myself sitting in this bloody car for over an hour!"_

She went to the backseat and unfastened the child seat. "Come on, sonny. I simply have to find out what he's doing in there."

Holding her son closely, Louisa went towards the door and found it open. Quietly she slipped into the house, following the only light within the whole building.

Martin was sitting at the kitchen table, surrounded by piles of paper, folders and a note pad. Right now, he bent over a thick, brown book.

Martin couldn't see her, as the hall way was considerably darker than the kitchen. She stood still, rocking her son so that he wouldn't wake up, and watched Martin. He was absorbed in this book, slowly turning the pages, staring blankly at the book. After a few minutes he got up and put the kettle on. He leaned against the kitchen table while waiting for the water to boil. Somehow he looked defeated. As in slow motion, he took the boiling kettle off the heat and fixed himself a cup of coffee.

He slumped back on the chair and continued to slowly turn the pages. After he had turned a couple of pages, she could hear him say "I completely forgot about that one." And then he stared out of the window, into the darkness.

Louisa felt she had watched him long enough, and it was time to address him. She walked slowly towards the kitchen, stopping in the kitchen door. He still did not notice her, absorbed in his reading.

"Martin, it's late. Come home."

Martin jumped to his feet. He first looked towards Louisa, then down at the table, then again to her. He quickly covered the book he was looking at with piles of paper.

"Louisa!"

"Come home, you must be tired." Louisa took an extra effort to talk calmly, to lure him back home.

Martin's eyes were suddenly fixed upon his sleeping son.

"Peter should be in bed. Why are you carrying him around in the night without a good reason?"

"Martin, I had a reason. I was worried about you. I simply had to find you."

"Now that you've found me, you can take Peter back to his cot. It's not good for him to be up this late."

"He's not _up_. Do you really think it is of any difference to him if he's sleeping here or in his cot? Don't worry about him. He's fine."

"Fine, then give him to me and I'll take him to bed. You can do whatever you like."

Martin made a step forward, ready to take Peter out of Louisa's arm.

"Martin, he _is_ fine. But you are not. What are you doing here in the first place?"

Martin looked helplessly towards the table, making a broad gesture covering the mess. "Joan's papers."

"You're not sorting them out in the middle of the night, are you?"

"It has to be done. There are some things…unsettled. I want everything to be in order."

"But there are more important things right now, don't you think?"

"Like driving around in the night with a newborn baby?"

"No, Martin. And I wouldn't have been driving around if you hadn't disappeared all of a sudden."

"I did not disappear. I told you, I had a lot to do."

"You don't want to sort all this out now?"

Martin sat down and started to fumble with the next best bill. "This _is_ important. As Aunty Joan always refused to let me help her with the finances, I have no clue how the business is doing. There are unsettled bills – incoming and outgoing." He had lifted different packs of paper to prove his point. "Furthermore, there seems to be a reservation for the B&B, which has to be cancelled."

"You don't want to call them now, do you?"

"Don't be daft. First thing in the morning, of course."

"So there is no reason whatsoever why you can't come home with us to get some sleep first. It'll be a tough day for you tomorrow.

"Sorry. I have a lot on my plate at the moment. As I won't have much time tomorrow, I have to settle this now."

"Why don't you pack all this and take it with you? Maybe we can sort this out together, tomorrow?"

"Louisa, I can't take those. They are not mine. They are Aunty Joan's."

"You really think she would want you to sit here alone, in the middle of the night, going through her correspondence, while we can do it together at home?"

"I can't remove anything without her permission."

Louisa approached Martin from behind. Pressing her son against her chest with one arm, she placed the other hand on Martin's shoulder.

"Martin, she can't give you the permission. Not anymore. But think what she would have wanted you to do. Do you really think she would approve of this?"

"Louisa, please! I have to get this sorted, and the longer you are standing here chatting, the longer it'll take me. Besides, Peter really should be in his cot by now. And what good would it do to go home? I'll have to be here in the wee hours of the morning to feed the chicken."

"You? Feeding the chicken?"

"Someone has to do it. Aunty Joan always was concerned about her birds. They are her main source of income. Nothing should happen to them. So, you see. I really don't have time for any of this."

"Martin, she doesn't need the income anymore. We can phone Phil Pratt tomorrow first thing. He can have a look at the chicken. Being a farmer, he'll be far better suited to do the feeding than you are."

"I certainly can feed some chickens. Don't be ridiculous."

"I don't doubt that you _can_ do it, but you don't have to. That's the point. Why don't you let anybody help you? You can't do all of this on your own."

"Of course I can. As long as I'm not being interrupted all the time."

"By the way, what were you looking at when I interrupted you?"

"_Stuff_." Martin replied evasively. "And if you could please let me alone now. I've got work to do. And in case you have forgotten, you've got a child to look after."

"Two, Martin, two."

"What?" He shyly looked over to Louisa, then he took a bill demonstratively. "_Ah, forage. I think I've seen the receipt….yes…looks like it…must be it_."

Louisa realised that he would never come back with her now, if only to prove his point.

"OK, Martin. I'll leave you to it. Try not to be too late, will you?"

However, she got no answer. Quietly she walked out and went to her car. She did not notice that Martin was following her exit with sad eyes.

On her way back, she argued with herself if she could have done more. But honestly, how could you help someone who brushed every attempt to reach out to him aside? Let this bloody fool brood over unpaid bills. Why should it be of any concern of hers? She had done her best.

Or had she?

At home, she put her son back into his cot. He had slept soundly throughout their whole nightly excursion. He was probably the only one right now who wasn't plagued by doubts and self-accusations.

Still cursing herself for not being able to reach Martin, Louisa scrambled into her cold and lonely bed.

_To be continued…_


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Louisa was woken up as her son began to stir. The noises he was making would lead to solid bawling eventually, if she didn't deal with the situation quickly. So she got up and changed his nappy. While she prepared him for being fed, she glanced at the alarm clock. Shortly past 6 a.m.

She had settled on her bed and Peter was sucking greedily, when she heard the front door downstairs. Then a pair of feet stormed upstairs. Some fumbling in Martin's room was followed by activities in the bathroom. It took some time until the bathroom door opened.

In the meantime Peter was fed and burped. Louisa put him down in the cot and rushed unto the landing.

She managed to catch Martin before he could rush down the stairs. When she addressed him he turned around to face her. He looked terrible. He had dark circles under his bloodshot eyes and was pale.

"Sorry if I have woken you."

"No, Martin. Your son did that before you came in. Where have you been all night? Don't tell me you were at Joan's place all through the night."

"This paperwork is very complicated."

"Did you get any sleep at all?"

"Well, I..uhm…" He slightly turned his head away not to look at her.

"So you haven't. How long do you think you can go on like this? Well, let's get down to have some breakfast. Shall I make us a cooked one?"

"Actually, Louisa, I don't think I've got time to…"

"You must eat something. And don't tell me you've got an appointment already. It's not even seven."

"I'm not really hungry, that's all."

"Did you have breakfast already?"

"Uhm…I…"

"Or anything for dinner last night, for that matter? Or lunch? Hm, Martin? Have you?"

"Actually…"

"Martin, can you remember being a doctor long enough to answer yourself this question – _Is it healthy not to eat anything at all for a whole day, not to get any sleep, but work and run around all day?_"

"You are the doctor, Martin? What is your expert's opinion? Hmm? Did you shave this morning?"

"Yes, doesn't it show?" Martin was rubbing his chin, but couldn't detect any stubble.

"Did you have a look at yourself, or don't you even face your own mirror image anymore?"

"I..erm…yes – why?"

"Didn't you notice anything? If you were your patient, what would you say? Hm?"

"I'm fine."

"Sure. You look like it." Louisa was annoyed by his denial of needing help and deeply worried. "Martin, I'm worried about you."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come. But I needed to change. I'd better take some things with me, then…"

"No, Martin. That wouldn't do. Don't you realise I'm worried sick when you disappear for the whole day, knowing that you're not taking proper care of yourself, not knowing where you are and what you're doing? Just knowing that you must be feeling utterly low, with your grief? I know how close Joan was to you. I also know that you are far from being as cold-hearted as you like to appear. I know that you must feel terrible. And it makes me feel terrible that you won't let me help you."

"I'm sorry. Don't worry. I'm fine."

"Would you say we were living together those last weeks?"

"Ehm…I…why do you ask?"

"Don't worry about why I'm asking. Just answer."

"Ehm…yes…in a way."

"So would I. What do you think _living together _means?"

"Obviously to share accommodation."

"Nothing else?"

"Share the meals, share the housework."

"Come on – you can do better than this!"

"I really don't have time for this!" Martin was confused. He certainly didn't know what she was aiming at. He didn't have the patience for this sort of conversation. To be honest, he hardly had the patience at the best of times, and this certainly wasn't _the best of times_ exactly.

"Martin, I was so glad to get you back. Don't slip through my fingers again." Louisa had put her hands on his sleeves, hoping her touch was enough to make him stay.

"I…uhm…What do you want from me?"

"I simply like having you around."

"I really have to go, as I have an appointment this morning, but I can try to come in before lunch."

"That would be nice. Having a meal together…"

"No, I can't stay for lunch. I have to…ehm…I've got an appointment. But I thought I can cook you something before."

"I don't need you for cooking, or changing Peter, or any other tasks."

"But you said…"

"I said that I like having you around, I didn't say that I need you as a handyman. I admit, coping with everything was easier when you were around, but I can manage that. But I simply liked you to be there. As you were running around the last couple of days and I hardly see you anymore, I realised how much better the meals taste when you are sitting opposite me at the kitchen table. I like you sitting next to me on the sofa when I'm watching telly, even when you're engrossed in something else. I simply like you to be around. Please, don't take that away from me."

"But I…don't understand."

"For me, living together meant no lonely meals, watching you from across the living area, seeing you first thing in the morning and last thing at night. It meant getting to know you, your routine in the morning, your taste in books and music, those quiet moments you need. It meant having you around. And I hoped it could mean sharing each others joys and sorrows, eventually."

"I know that our _relationship_ had a rocky start, well, not only the start, really, but I thought it was evolving nicely since Peter was born. I admire your dedication, how willingly you have given up your bright future, just to stay in the backwaters of Cornwall. I think I can just vaguely guess how much you must miss surgery. And not having any work at all at the moment must be galling for you. I don't suppose you ever had so much time on your hands. Or have you?"

"Uhm…No, not really."

"And I suppose it is really a struggle for you to get through the day with no bigger tasks than looking after Peter and me."

"I…ehm…that's fine."

"What I'm saying is, if you need me for something, if I can help you, in any way, please let me do it. I'd be happy to help. There must be a lot to organize. I can help you. I want to be there for you."

"Uhm…no…nothing. I've got everything under control."

"Really? Nothing left to be done?"

"Well, I still…I mean…I'm not finished with the guest list…yet…completely." To be honest, he still hadn't the slightest idea. "But I'm working on it."

"Isn't it a bit late to still be _working on it_? The funeral will be the day after tomorrow, won't it?"

"Uhm…yes…why?"

"When do you think you'll have the list ready?"

"I told you, everything's under control!" Louisa could tell by his agitated voice that it was far from being true.

"Actually, Martin, you can stop worrying. I told William…"

"_William?_"

"Yes, William Shawcross. I called him last night to find out if he knew where you were. After all, I just knew that you wanted to meet him. I didn't know anything else."

"Oh."

"Well, he told me that you hadn't come up with a guest list already. So I told him he should contact Muriel Steel. She's one of Joan's oldest friends. She'll know."

"You did…what? Without telling me?"

"Martin, how on earth could I tell you when you weren't here? I don't see you long enough to discuss anything. And did you answer any calls? Hm, did you? I just thought she would be the most competent person. And William really has to have the list ready this morning. He can't wait even longer."

"Oh, right. So you don't trust me. Is that it? I'm not even capable of doing that for Aunty Joan?"

"Martin, you are capable of a great many things, and you did a lot for Joan – when she was alive as well as now. It isn't a sign of weakness to delegate tasks to people better suited for them. It's the most essential thing, really, to know exactly who is good in doing what and then getting the tasks organised accordingly. So stop worrying about the guest list. William will contact Mu the first thing this morning, so that the invitations will be forwarded today. For all locals, I told him he should ask Dave directly to deliver them. He can circumvent the official delivery routes a bit to speed things up."

"So…who's coming?"

"I don't know. I can call Mu later."

"Right. I see." Martin was still a bit miffed about not being consulted, but couldn't deny that a huge burden had been taken off him. "At least make sure I will be told how many people are coming. I've got to organize the wake. And make sure that my parents are _not_ invited. Joan couldn't stand them when she was alive, it wouldn't be fair to have them around when she can't give them a piece of her mind."

"Sure, Martin. I understand. I will call Muriel to make sure, but I suppose she'll be aware of that. Regarding the wake, please let me handle this. I know which strings to pull."

"I don't need anyone to pull strings for me! I can afford a decent wake!"

"Where? Where did you book something?"

"I…I couldn't, yet…I mean…I had to know how many people were coming first."

"Martin. I'm really sorry to say this, but you _are_ running behind schedule. Let me do it. I know whom to contact. I can organise a good wake that would make Joan proud."

"I think it really should be me doing that. You've got enough to do, now that I don't help you much with Peter, and around the house."

"As much as I appreciate the help you've given me, I can manage alone, believe me. I don't want you to patronise me or to care for me. I want to share your hard times, your worries, as much as you allowed me to share mine. I want to be your equal partner."

"I…uhm…I really should…." Martin didn't know what to say. This encounter was more than he could manage. Now he heard something that could get him out of this.

"Peter is crying. You'd better look after him."

"Yes Martin." Louisa answered wearily. While she comforted her son, Martin went off again.

Cradling Peter she whispered: "And you have been crying, too. Why couldn't I look after you too, then?"

_To be continued…_


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

After breakfast, Louisa called Muriel. Talking to Martin this morning, she had realised that he was not doing well with the preparation and needed help, like it or not.

She would make sure that Joan got the best possible funeral. She owed her that much, especially as she had been the only one welcoming her back with open arms when she turned up in Portwenn heavily pregnant a few months before.

Louisa didn't care if Martin did like it or not. Their relationship was awkward anyhow, and saving these last remnants of a shared future wasn't worth risking Joan's funeral. If he was going to be steaming with anger, then so be it.

"Good morning, Muriel. Sorry for calling so early."

"What do you mean _early_? I've been out and about for ages."

"Did you have any luck with the guest list?"

"The guest list has nothing to do with luck, but with the work and effort you're willing to invest. And _yes_, I did invest both. I have already called William Shawcross. He'll come any minute now. I have the list in writing and I think it's easier to hand it to him than to tell him on the phone."

"Great. Thanks very much. You're a darling. Ehm, just one thing – did you include Martin's father?"

"Heaven forbid! No, of course not. I couldn't do that to Joan. Especially not after the last visit. Why do you ask? Did Martin want to make sure he's coming?"

"Quite the contrary. He wanted to make sure they are _not_ coming."

"Oh, good. So he knows what arseholes they are."

"Well, he didn't dwell much on it, but Joan obviously couldn't stand them."

"You can say that. The two hated each other. I think Joan also wasn't too close to her sister, but I haven't heard her complaining about her. So I added her to the list. I don't have any address, though. Maybe Martin can provide it?"

"A sister? Joan had a sister? I didn't know that."

"Well, she just mentioned it once, incidentally. I doubt they were close. None of the Ellinghams are. Not a very affectionate family, I'm afraid."

'_Why am I not surprised'_ thought Louisa. Maybe it explained Martin's detached behaviour when no one in the family knows the meaning of this word, except for Joan, maybe.

"Right. I'll ask Martin – if I see him long enough, that is."

"Why, I thought he was staying with you?"

"Yeah, in theory. Practically he is all over the place. Just stops long enough for changing – either Peter or his clothes."

"I suppose he has a lot on his plate."

"So much that he doesn't find time to sleep? I doubt that."

"William told me you advised him to avoid official mail delivery routes for the locals. That's good, but there are a few from further away. Do you want to call them or shall I do it?"

"Right, calling them would be a good idea, I suppose. Let me see, I don't know. I certainly don't want Martin to do it. Martin and phones are a dangerous combination."

"I can do it. No problem."

"That's great, thanks. By the way, how many people do you expect?"

"About 60, I suppose."

"I decided that I will organise the wake. Due to my short encounter with Martin this morning, I know that he hadn't even thought about the whereabouts."

"What's he busy with, then?"

"_Very_ good question. I thought I might ask the Women's Association to provide the food. Joan was always lending a helping hand there."

"I'm sure they'll be happy to help. And where?"

"I've got an idea, but I want to check it before I talk about it. Most of all I want to keep it simple, informal and friendly – I think that would do Joan justice."

"Sounds good. Oh, Mr. Shawcross is coming. I have to ring off."

"See you."

"Bye."

Louisa breathed heavily after finishing this call. Now she had said it out loud that she would organise the wake. Now there was no going back.

She still wondered about the fact that there was a second aunt of Martin's around. Why had he never mentioned her? But then, he had never mentioned his parents for that matter. To be honest, she had never asked him either.

And did he know that she wasn't an only child? Probably not. She wasn't used to talking about her family. First, because it wasn't a very pleasant topic to start with, second because everyone in Portwenn knew anyway.

She thought about what she _did_ know about Martin. It was astonishingly little. She was living with an almost stranger. In many ways, she knew more about Dave, the postman, than about the father of her child.

Weird.

Talking about her child – she quickly checked Peter, who was sleeping peacefully since he has woken her up.

So, time for the next call. She dialled the number of the head of the Women's Association. She briefed her about her plans for the wake and asked if they could help by providing the catering. It should be simply, and rural, and enjoyable – the way Joan would have liked it.

Louisa was assured that it would be no problem at all. They would love doing that for Joan. The Women's Association would have a special meeting today to arrange their duties.

After Louisa had finished this call she decided that while she was at it, she would just make another call.

She searched for the number in question and then dialled again.

"Yes?" A grumpy man's voice answered her call.

"Mr. Pratt?"

"Speaking. Who's there?"

"Louisa Glasson here."

"Oh?" The male voice showed astonishment.

"I'm sure you heard about Joan?"

"Sure. Who hasn't? Bloody tourists, they can't handle the widest roads. If you ask me, they should be banned from around here."

"Well, I suppose that would cost the income of too many people. I'm calling because we don't know yet if there is a last will or something and what will happen with the farm. Before there is a new owner, no one will take care of the chicken and Buddy."

"I saw a certain car at the farm last night, until the wee hours really. So I thought Mr. High-and-mighty wanted to take over."

"Martin…Dr. Ellingham tried to take care of the chicken as well as he could for Joan, until we know what will happen to them. However, he is not very comfortable about farm work and has quite a lot on his plate at the moment, so I thought I'd call you. Maybe you can keep an eye on the farm until the end of the week."

Phil Pratt didn't like it at all. He also hadn't liked Joan particularly. He never had liked anyone particularly, for that matter. Except for one person. Thinking about it, he remembered that Joan never spread a word about his unlikely relationship. Neither had the snobby Doctor. Something like gratefulness sneaked into this harsh man. It was thanks to the discretion of Martin Ellingham and Joan Norton that he was able to stay in the village, on his farm. Otherwise he wouldn't have known how to face anyone if word had gone round that he had such a very special preference.

"Alright." He grumbled. "It's not the birds' fault that the stupid townies invade here every summer."

"Thank you very much. Maybe we can do something to compensate you for your troubles?"

"Quite alright." _This favour is already paid for_, he thought.

After finishing this call, Louisa felt really good. She had managed to get three things sorted out within an hour. She was very pleased with herself.

Now it was time for some housework. She filled the washing machine and started ironing and putting away the already washed laundry. The morning passed by quickly with all the work to do.

Around noon, as promised, Martin did show up. After checking on Peter, he headed straight for the kitchen to fix some lunch.

Louisa was afraid she would scare him away if she addressed the topics on her mind immediately. So she simply got Peter, who was awake now after Daddy's interference, and cuddled him, telling him nursery rhymes, playing along, while watching Martin busying himself in the kitchen. At least, this brought something like _normality_ back into their lives.

Half an hour later, Martin had fixed a salad with chicken and some fresh bread and served it up to Louisa. Louisa put Peter to rest, but when Martin wanted to rush out again, Louisa shouted after him.

"STOP! Not a step further. If you go out of that bloody door again, without having eaten anything at all – then you don't have to come back again. Understood?"

Martin stopped on the spot, without moving a muscle, uncertain what to do. He really tried to avoid any personal contact since this horrible news had hit him. He could handle the appointments with the lawyer and the bank. Of course, they had expressed their condolences, too, but in well rehearsed standard phrases that didn't mean a thing.

Even the encounters with the undertaker had been difficult. Although Martin tried to keep it on a business level, this Shawcross seemed to be determined to see him mourn. Maybe it was some perverted pleasure of his, the thing that probably made him want to become an undertaker in the first place, Martin wondered. However, he could always brush Shawcross aside, as Martin was paying, and Shawcross simply had to do what he was told.

Facing Louisa would be something else. She could be persistent like no one else he knew. He also knew that she had this thing for showing compassion, and right now he would qualify perfectly to be object to that particular passion of hers. Besides, with this baby-business she still must be very hormonal, another factor that wouldn't make dealing with Louisa any easier.

On the other hand, she usually meant what she said. So, her threat that he might not be allowed to return had to be taken seriously. And he had to admit that this threat was a more potent one than he could have ever imagined.

He had to admit, even though he hadn't been physically close to Louisa again after the called-off wedding, and honestly Martin had little hopes that she could ever want to have him _that_ close ever again, he would miss their – what, how could he describe their relationship best? Friendship? No, it wasn't as much as that, he was sorry to admit. Certainly it wasn't a love affair. Emergency alliance? No, that would be too grim, he hoped. Companionship? Well, maybe that would do. Yes, he would miss their companionship.

What astonished him most, was as much as he would miss seeing Louisa, there was one thought even more frightening – he wasn't sure if he could stand not being allowed to see his son. Not to feel this tiny body against his chest, not to have this miniature finger clutched around his big ones. Knowing to be shut out from any future developments. He never would have thought it possible even a month ago, but he had strong father feelings for this little chap.

Joan would be over the moon to know that he felt that way. Would be – but now she never had the chance to find out. And he hadn't told her how he felt about being a father when he still could. To be honest, he just realised it this moment. This very moment when he felt the sword of Damocles hanging above him, threatening to take the only family away from him he still had.

He always had thought of himself as a solitary person. In all his years in London he never had felt the urge to have anybody around. He could manage quite well with just his work and himself. This very moment it hit him, that Portwenn had changed him drastically in that respect. First it had been only Joan, who had forced him to join her meals to begin with, which he had done so reluctantly at first, but then came to enjoy it. Then Louisa had stirred emotions in him he never knew existed. And after that fell apart and he had felt unable to cope with the news Louisa had for him after her return to Portwenn, it had been Joan who had made him face his responsibility, who hadn't let him off the hook.

Now, without Joan, he feared a great directive in his life had been taken away from him, but he also felt he was unable – physically unable – to go back to his solitary life. He needed someone, some company, someone to be responsible for – he needed a family.

_To be continued…_


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Louisa watched Martin frozen in action on his way to the door. She had to suppress a laugh as he looked absolutely comical with not moving a muscle, like someone paused on a DVD. She knew that if she couldn't suppress her laugh, he would be out of the door immediately, and rightly so. You could practically watch him think. It was absolutely hilarious.

She held her breath, forcing herself not to rush him, not to push for an answer. What was he considering for so long? If it was worth the effort to stay? If it would be some strange sign of defeat if he gave in now? Why had she never really found a way to understand what was going on inside of him?

This awkward situation was interrupted, or maybe saved, by little Peter starting to cry. Both adults, absorbed in their own little turmoil before, headed to the little chap. Martin beat Louisa to it and picked Peter up.

"Now, now little man. Who would be crying? Let's see what the problem is and we get it solved in no time."

Martin sniffed at the area most likely to cause problems. "Everything seems fine down there, right?" Peter kept on bawling. "Well, maybe you're hungry, is that it, young man?"

Louisa nodded in the direction of the fridge. Martin understood the silent hint and rocking his son, firmly pressed against his chest, he made his way to warm up a bottle.

"Just a little while, little one. We've got to warm this milk up for you. Otherwise your stomach will have problems digesting it. And we don't want you to get any pains, do we?"

Louisa silently watched this scene. She reminded herself that this was the man she had wanted to shut out from fatherhood because she had been convinced that he didn't have it in him. She had to admit that she had been wrong about that. There was something in Martin, something good, that was just waiting to be needed, to be coaxed out.

She also realised that these days, he had spoken with his son more often than he had talked to her. So there was still room to coax him out a bit more. If she just knew how without scaring him off?

Now she had ordered him to stay, just as she had ordered him years ago to drink that wine. When she firmly told him to do something, she realised, he obeyed, but that was not the kind of relationship she wanted. She wanted to be _equal_ partners. She didn't want to be patronised, nor be in command. What she really wanted was a true partnership.

After meticulously checking the temperature of the bottle and judging it to be perfect, Martin slipped out of his coat and settled onto a chair.

"Dinner served any moment now." While he fed his son, Martin kept on talking. "Now, now, not so greedily. You'll just suck in lots of air, which will just cause discomfort. There's plenty for you. Don't worry, you won't stay hungry. Well, that was the problem, was it?" He watched his son sucking greedily until his appetite subsided. Then he wiped his mouth, put a towel over his own shirt and started massaging his little son's body to burp him. While Martin paced up and down, waiting for the belch, Louisa finally had to address Martin.

"You're very good with children."

"Oh…uhhmm…no, not really."

"C'mon. You're mastering this baby routine quite well by now."

"It doesn't take a PhD to do these tasks."

"No, but willingness, and dedication, and patience. The way you talk with him. You really care about him."

"I…" His son saved him by releasing the air. "That's a good boy. You mind if I put you back, now? Your Mummy wants to eat and I…"

"…and your Daddy is going to join her." Louisa declared firmly, giving Martin a stern look.

While Martin put the baby back, Louisa got another fork and knife and placed it on the table. While she sat down, she gestured Martin to join her.

"But I prepared just one plate of salad. I…"

"There's enough for both of us. You can join me." Louisa put a fork firmly in Martin's hand.

"From the same plate?"

"Are you afraid I might have some catchy disease?"

The stern look Louisa gave him made Martin cautious, so he mumbled something, looking down at the plate.

Louisa took some bread and gave it to him.

Martin carefully put some sliced tomato and some cucumber onto his fork, took a bite from the bread and then placed the fork back on the table.

Louisa, attacking the food with more appetite, was chewing with pleasure, but alarmed by Martin's action, she declared. "You haven't finished yet. Eat!"

"Actually, I'm really not very…"

"Nonsense. Eat, or I will feed you, how about that? Would you like that – I fill my fork for you and vice versa?" Louisa thought that might actually even be fun and she could make sure he'd get enough to eat. Martin, however, just glanced over in sheer horror, one brow raised.

"You are not serious, are you? You're…joking?"

"Actually, I was not."

"You'd better be. It's disgusting."

Louisa just shrugged her shoulders and attacked the plate with new energy. Between bites, she ordered him to eat, again.

Hesitantly, Martin picked up the fork, poking around cautiously.

"No need to sneak up on it, it's already dead!" She scolded him.

When she had emptied half the plate, he had still only had a few mouthful to eat. She put her fork down energetically and then ordered him to clear the plate.

"But you…"

"I had my share – and I did have breakfast, too. Your turn."

Under the supervising eyes of Louisa, he reluctantly finished the salad. After he had swallowed the last mouthful, Louisa turned to him.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"I…uh…I've got to go."

Martin wanted to jump up, but Louisa put her hand firmly on his thigh.

"Stay put. We've got to talk."

"Not now, I…"

"_Exactly_ now. I don't know when you will give me the privilege to show up again."

"Really, I've got an appointment."

"When?"

"2 pm."

"Here in the village."

"Yes."

"You've got plenty of time. Actually, you don't even have to say a thing if you don't want to. I just thought I'd better inform you before you find out otherwise."

"I was quite busy this morning. First I called Muriel. She's got the guest list ready, and you can relax, your parents are _not_ invited. However, an aunt of yours is."

"Aunt Ruth?"

"I actually don't know. Muriel just mentioned a sister of Joan's. She doesn't have an address or phone number and hoped you could help?"

"Uhm…I think…I'm not sure…if she hadn't changed address in between."

"Well, just try, will you?"

"Uhm…right…and the others?"

"Locals will get their written invitation today, Muriel will call the rest. William has the complete list, so if you want to check, you can do it in his office."

"Okay?"

"Well, next I called the Women's Association. They will provide the catering."

"No! I mean…are they following the codes of hygiene practice? Are they inspected at all? I always thought…"

"Stop it, Martin. Of course they follow the basics of hygiene in the kitchen, even if they are not inspected. Why should they be? They are just helpful people cooking for others. They have provided the food for many village fetes, gatherings, Christmas parties and such, and they've never caused any health problems. _I_ trust them completely. They are cheap, good, not fancy, uncomplicated and they can help us on short notice. Besides, they all knew Joan. Also as she has often helped them, it's a nice gesture to let them help her."

"You mean…"

"I mean it's settled. If you wanted to have anything else, you should have planned it earlier."

Martin opened his mouth in protest, but seeing Louisa looking angrily towards him, he snapped his mouth shut.

"But I'd like your opinion on one thing." Louisa continued.

"That would be a first." Martin grumbled.

"It's a about the whereabouts of the wake." Louisa continued, ignoring his foul mood. "I thought, maybe we could do it at the farm. Wouldn't that be nice?"

"You mean, everyone crowded into the kitchen, or what? Did you see the living room there?"

"Not necessarily inside. I imagine the rooms might be a bit small. Most cottages are. I checked the weather forecast, and it looks good for the day after tomorrow. Besides, I could contact the person who provides the tents for the school fetes. Still cheaper than booking something, and being out there might be nice. That's how Joan would have liked it, don't you think?"

Martin didn't like the idea, but it dawned to him that if he refused, he would have to come up with a better plan. That was just the problem, he had none. So reluctantly, he agreed.

"Great, I'll call the person with the tents and hopefully he can set it up tomorrow."

"Lastly, you don't have to worry anymore about Buddy and the chickens. Phil Pratt will look after them."

"You haven't called him, have you?"

"How could I have asked him otherwise?"

"But you hardly know the man? You can't just call and ask him to do the work for me?"

"I didn't ask him to work for you, I asked for a favour, a favour for Joan – a favour he is most qualified to do. I didn't really have to persuade him much, for that matter."

"But…"

"You're a doctor, not a farmer. You hate getting your hands dirty. So…you should be glad. Besides, now you won't have any excuse to bury yourself at Joan's farm all night."

"I haven't buried myself…"

"Oh yes, Martin, you most definitely have. And you will not do it again. I was worried sick."

Martin looked puzzled, confused. "But you shouldn't….worry, I mean."

"Then tell me what you would do if I had to cope with a huge loss and then wouldn't turn up all night?"

"But that would be different."

"Why, Martin? Why would it be different?"

"You're a woman."

"This observation is not new."

"So…"

"So – what? I still don't know why it would be different."

"Uhm – hormone-wise you're bound to be far more emotional and being alone at a remote farm wouldn't be safe."

"It had been safe for Joan, for decades she has been alone there. And you're not really a big fighter yourself, are you, Martin?" Louisa retorted.

"Yes, but you've got a child to look after."

"And so have you."

"I?"

"Being the father, Martin? Doesn't that give you any ideas?"

"Uhm…yes?" His voice cracked. After she had declared throughout her pregnancy that he should have nothing to do with the child, he suddenly found himself deep in responsibilities.

"And as you lectured me as I – stupidly, I admit now – shifted furniture, we will have to look after Peter for the next 18 years. So you should start looking after yourself. Peter and I need you in top condition."

"Yeah, but it was alright for you to exhaust yourself being seven months pregnant! That was alright. But just _one_ night invested to sort out paperwork makes me irresponsible."

"I already admitted, I _did_ make a mistake in thinking I could do everything as normal during the pregnancy. I also admit that I underestimated how hard it is looking after a baby, so I'm really glad you volunteered to help me. However, you don't think it's particularly clever to make things even for a mistake by doing something stupid yourself?"

_To be continued…_


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Martin squirmed on his chair. He was still miffed that Louisa had sorted out most of his remaining problems, those that he had been pondering on for the last two days, in one morning. It simply wasn't fair that everything came so easy to Louisa, while he always had to struggle.

"I guess I can go now. I wonder why I had been bothering at all?"

"I'm sure you've done a good job so far, and I certainly wouldn't have been any good in sorting out all those legal and financial matters you have been so busy with. I just thought I might get those things off your plate that I can do. Getting the Portwenn network working for us."

"So can I try to keep my appointment now, or are there any other problems you would like to solve for me?"

"Actually, Martin, one more thing. And this time I don't want you to say anything. Just listen…and maybe think about it."

"You've got to face your grief, and you really should share it with someone. I don't necessarily mean sharing it with me. I'd understand if you don't trust me enough to confide in me. If I'm honest, I haven't treated you too nicely the last few months, and I really didn't do anything to earn your trust."

"However, if you'd choose me to confide in I would feel honoured and would gladly lend you a shoulder – to cry on, rest, simply talk, whatever you need to get over this loss."

"I would also understand if you chose another confidante. I would not be offended, I assure you."

"I'm just saying, you can't go through this alone – headstrong, stubbornly rushing forward, denying your needs and grief, ignoring your loss, trying to act _normal_ when nothing is normal anymore for you. Everyone needs someone to talk to, to comfort him, and right now is the moment that you need _exactly_ that."

"If you do not do anything about it, you'll do even more damage to yourself than you already have."

"What do you mean? I've certainly never done any damage…" Martin blustered.

"Stop it, Martin. Your denial tactics _do_ damage – to your soul." Martin groaned.

"Yes, even if you deny that things like that exist, people are more than functional or dysfunctional biological machines, that have to be fixed if not working properly. And deep down inside, you know that. I will even go as far as to suspect that you know that this deeper level of yours is deeply troubled, I don't know by what. I'm not even sure if I could stand to find out."

"I simply can't understand you. You are so meticulous in grooming and caring for the mere physical side of yourself, but I doubt that you take equal care of your deeper layers, although they are even more worthy of looking after."

Martin tried to object, but was shushed by Louisa.

"You forget, you allowed me – in a very few, precious moments when you let your guard down – to get a glimpse of your inner life. You know what I found there – a gentle, insecure, humble, highly lovable, generous, extremely lonely, considerate man. I found the man I could love. But then you go and sabotage it. Then you barricade yourself behind the walls, and not even the trumpets of Jericho can bring them down. Think about it, Martin? For how long did you hide behind this wall? How long did it take you to fortify your hideout and how much work did you put into it? Can you even remember a time out here, in the open, among people – people to connect to? Or can you only ever remember people attacking you?"

"Remember, I'm a teacher, and I do know that people like you – intelligent, sensitive, insecure people – often have it difficult in their school years. They are so far ahead of all of their schoolmates that there is no basis where they can connect with others. I've seen pupils like that, not many, but a few over the years. I've always tried to integrate them. I also have to confess that I've never once succeeded. They are the odd ducks. They never fit in."

"Is that the reason why you have hidden behind this wall, looking down on us from your ivory tower?"

"I just want you to face the fact that it will be even more lonesome for you behind this wall, as the only person I presume could somehow see through these walls will not be around anymore. I admit, it will make it easier for you to hide there. I never found the means to reach over or even get a peek over the walls if you didn't let me."

"It will be less challenging for you, but also so much more lonesome."

"Think hard, Martin. Is that what you really want? I can't promise you that everything will be fine when you dare to leave your fortification. I can't promise you that you won't get hurt. I don't want to fool you or deceive you. As soon as you make one step out of your wall, you're at risk of being hurt."

"The only thing that I can promise you is that I will be there to guard you, to shield you, to defend you. If you let me. I hope you might be able to breathe more freely. I hope you might be able to relax, to be more _you_, to feel safe in someone's company. I really want you to be happy."

"Maybe it's difficult for you to believe that, but not being hurt doesn't make you happy. Maybe you have been hurt so deeply, so regularly and that made you so miserable, that you think you just have to stop being hurt at any cost and you'll be happy."

"You won't, Martin. You just will be lonely. You will be distrustful. You will be wary. And the longer you maintain these tactics, the more effort you will have to make to keep your wall intact, to keep people away. People won't stop because they see a wall. They get curious about what's behind there and try to invade."

"Most of them won't have noble intentions for intruding on your privacy. You make them curious and they will just want to satisfy their curiosity. And if you ever show a sign of weakness, they will exploit that, they will trample on your feelings, your weaknesses."

"I don't want that for you. I want you to be happy. I don't know if I can bring it to you. I just know that the manner in how you are trying to achieve it can't be right."

"Right now you're more susceptible to getting cracks in that thick wall of yours as you ever have been. Bulldozing through all this, blindfolded and headstrong, will just make you more miserable. Seek some support. I don't care where. If you have no one to confide in, seek professional help. You don't even have to trust that paid counsellors won't betray you, they would ruin their career if they breach your patient's confidentiality. So if you really don't feel able to trust anyone, go there to talk, to get it off your chest."

"I don't want an answer from you. Please just think about it. I just have your best interests at heart."

Louisa got up leaving Martin sitting there visibly confused.

"It's time for your appointment now. I sincerely hope I'll see you tonight."

Busying herself in the kitchen, she left Martin to leave in a daze and without a word.

_To be continued…_


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Martin stumbled forward through the narrow streets of Portwenn. His head was buzzing and there was a turmoil of emotions going on within him.

He feared facing Shawcross right now, he had an appointment with the funeral parlour, and he wasn't sure that he could sustain his equilibrium with Shawcross' constant insistence on it being necessary for Martin to mourn right now.

A quick look at his watch revealed that he still had half an hour to go, so he headed towards the coastal path, away from the people.

He needed time to calm down, to breathe, to clear his head. He certainly couldn't stand the company, comments or even looks from any other people right now. He craved a bit of solitude.

Fortunately, the coastal path wasn't far from the village centre, and only a few people were around. The view of the sea was soothing, as was the sea breeze. He took a deep breath.

He kept on walking while he replayed the conversation with Louisa in his head. He thought about walls.

He remembered his childhood, how exposed he had felt, always _needy_, so he was told. Being open about his needs and fears had only caused him to be ridiculed, rejected and looked down on. It was only after he decided that he didn't need anything or anyone that the nightmares stopped, the bed-wetting and with that the humiliation. Not showing any needs had made him somewhat invulnerable, which was a comforting, safe feeling.

Yes, it had been a monumental task to steel himself, and he had several set-backs to start with. It took constant, hard training not to let his feelings show, and well into puberty he had realised that he would never be able to not show emotions, to expose his fears in the weakness of the moment, when he allowed himself to really _feel_ these things.

So he had concentrated on his training, the shaping of his personality, to kill these emotions whenever they started to build up. It was like weeding a garden. As soon as the slightest tip of an unwanted plant seeded within him broke through, he plucked it out and threw it on the fire of his ire.

Louisa would never understand that this alone had saved him. He didn't know if he would have survived if he hadn't been able to toughen himself up.

The only one who had never believed in his tactics had been Aunty Joan, mainly because she had known him before he had transformed himself from the needy, childish, weak infant into a self-sufficient, strong adult. For her, he had always been _Little Marty_, the crying, bed-wetting eleven-year old.

The more he was alarmed by Louisa's words. Had she spotted traces of this weakling within him? Hadn't he made such a good job in shaping himself after all? Was he still this disgusting little brat? He really thought he had left all that behind.

Somehow, however, Louisa sensed these layers that he had obviously just clumsily covered. How many other people were able to recognise this side of him?

She had talked about him having to leave those walls. But how could he? It was a cold world out there, and no one would expect a lobster to abandon his shell. It wouldn't survive. He was also sure that he wouldn't hold out for five minutes after letting his defences down.

He remembered the afternoon he had proposed to Louisa. That was the only time in his adult life that he had felt completely exposed and vulnerable. His memory briefly recalled the warm feeling he had felt – a warm feeling inside – when Louisa had covered his face with her lips, kissing his tears away. He remembered the security he had felt, surrendering to her nimble fingers and tongue. Her words about breathing more freely outside those walls came to his mind.

He remembered that night. Oh, how peaceful he had felt, lying in her bed, his head in her lap, sated after their passionate love-making. She had propped herself up in bed and he had rested his head in her lap, her legs wrapped around his torso.

Thinking back, he still could feel the tingling of his scalp where she had run her fingernails over it. He could still feel the smooth skin of her legs under his fingertips. Life had never felt so right.

All tension between them gone, he had felt no pressure or expectations upon him.

When she had tenderly stroked him with her leg, he had enjoyed the pleasures of his body, as well as hers. Without any feeling of guilt, or the urge to defend or cover anything.

It hit him now, that in that moment, while his head had rested on her body, deep inside her body the most complete connection between male and female was taking place. Her ovum and his sperm were merging to form a new life, to create Peter, while his hand was drawing lazy circles on her leg.

Then he scolded himself. Look what trouble that afternoon had caused in the long run. His irresponsible behaviour had caused Louisa to lose her London job, brought her the humiliation and pain of having to give birth in a pub and now tied her down for the next 18 years. All that because he had forgot to keep on guard. He was a bloody fool.

And why was it that people always found it necessary to talk? Louisa had been so convinced that he needed to talk with someone about his loss. Why? He didn't need to talk about Aunty Joan, he needed _her_. But even if he could speak with the tongues of men and of angels, it wouldn't bring her back. _Nothing_ could bring her back.

Maybe it was even tougher for him than it would have been for anyone else. Not only because he had lost the only person who could accept him the way he was. That thought alone was scary enough, but being a doctor meant somehow that Death was your arch-enemy. All he did in his job, everything he was trained to do, was to keep Death at bay.

So he hadn't only lost the one link to his childhood, the only person he could share memories with, he also had to admit that Death had won one battle in this ongoing war between them. In an unguarded moment Death had invaded this unfortified flank and conquered the ground very precious to him.

The rub with battles against this opponent was that you never had a chance to re-conquer the ground. Whatever Death had captured once was devastated forever.

This was a fate you had to live with as a doctor. You could never win in the end. You could just postpone the triumph of your enemy for a little bit longer.

It had been this helplessness that had made him feel nauseous when the blood-red flag of victory of his opponent had been waved before him.

Now, Death had brought his victory home to him, and he just felt numb. He felt bereft of all his inner life, as if he had died, too, in a way.

He had to confess that in some moments a most horrible thought had begun tormenting him. A thought that made him cautious not to fall asleep, as his dreams exaggerated this feeling. Maybe he was just allowed one precious person in his life, and in accepting Peter as his son, he had to sacrifice Joan. He knew that this was absolute rubbish, there was no logical explanation for this thought and it wouldn't stand any scientific reasoning. Nevertheless, he couldn't shake this feeling of guilt that it had been his decision to swap Joan's life for Peter's. It also didn't help that Joan had died while driving down to see her grand-nephew. So, without Peter there would have been no need for her to be on the road at that time and therefore there wouldn't have been an accident and she would still be going strong.

Louisa had been right about one thing – Aunty Joan had been the person who knew him best. Maybe that's why he missed her so much. Louisa dwelled upon how he needed someone to talk to. He realised now why he had thought this was rubbish. He didn't need someone to talk to, he needed someone who knew what was wrong with him _without_ having to say so. Only Aunty Joan had ever been able to do that.

Who would fill that gap for him? Louisa? But how? She was always so easily offended. He never could tell her what he was really thinking, as she always went off in a huff. With Joan it had always been different. Even when she disagreed with him, she simply gave him a piece of her mind. Honestly, openly. Even if he didn't like it, he knew at least where he stood.

He never could hide anything from her. He remembered the day after the concert, when she just had to take one look at him and she knew that he was shattered and why. Louisa on the next morning, however, had just found him irritating.

Paid counsellors? Bollocks! What did people think they'd do? In his opinion they were failed existances, unable to provide an honest living, they exploited the gullibility of some idiots. He would be damned if he'd ever pay money to someone, who most probably didn't even listen properly to what people were telling them. Just sitting back, faking attention, blabbering phrases people wanted to hear. And that was the best scenario. In worse cases they were perverts who got their thrills out of the misery of others. Maybe they were so miserable themselves that they needed to see the pain of others to reassure themselves that they weren't so badly off after all.

And who needed them anyway? He certainly didn't! Sure, he did miss Aunty Joan, but he had survived in London without seeing her for thirty years. He had hardly ever visited her from the time between when he had stopped visiting her as an 11-year old since when he had returned to Portwenn as GP. He had proved that he could handle not having anyone to confide in. In London, he'd never had anyone to share his thoughts. Even when he had been with Edith, she'd never had been interested in his problems. She was only interested in his talents.

If he had succeeded for 30 years on just concentrating on his job and living a self-sufficient life, he certainly could now. What did Louisa think he was? Some needy brat? Who needs people anyway? They are irritating, and most of them are barmy. Why should they be interested in his troubles? He surely wasn't interested in theirs.

And with Joan's? Had he taken care enough of hers? He didn't know why, but he suddenly remembered John Slater. Oh, how he loathed people like him – smarmy, smug charmers with money, who could charm the birds out of the trees. They gave him the creeps. And the belittling way he had treated him. Everything within him was against the creep.

But Joan had loved him. One thing was for sure, Joan certainly had a strange taste when it came to men. Compared with the ghastly Edward, John was even an almost acceptable choice. Martin shuddered. At least she had been wiser in choosing a husband.

He remembered Phil affectionately. A quiet, tall, simple man. Maybe not overly intellectual or refined, but honest and dependable. Another untimely victory for Death.

He had learned of his death by a card from Joan, but he had preferred to go to a conference in New York than to go down to Cornwall. Selfish pig he had been. Maybe it was a wicked way of justice that, in the long run, it had been in vain, as now that career was shattered. Another loss.

He was just glad that he had had the decency to be with Joan when John had sailed away, telling her the real reason why he didn't want her to come with him. Martin had to admit, that John had acted more sensibly than he would have expected. Martin had been impressed that John, in his own way, wanted to protect Joan, and for the first time he was prepared to admit that, maybe, John really cared for Joan.

Martin had struggled throughout the whole night before deciding to visit Joan. He had never really seen Joan cry, but when he had told her the true reason for John's rejection, she had collapsed in tears and had buried her face in his chest. His natural impulse would have been to shrug her off, but strangely enough, for once, he had felt the need to put his arm around her.

Her grateful look after this episode indicated how much Joan did appreciate it, even when they never spoke about it.

Suddenly, Martin realised why he was thinking of this episode right now. This stretch of coast looked exactly…He turned around – yes, he could see the harbour entrance over there, and if he turned around…yes, there was Joan's farm over there. Had he really walked the whole way from Portwenn to Joan's? If so, he could forget his appointment altogether. He acted so utterly stupid right now! He _never_ had missed an appointment ever, unless he had been called out to an emergency.

He didn't even bother to look at his watch. There was no need. It must be too late, anyhow.

Suddenly, he felt extremely tired, so he sat down, right there in the grass. He looked over the sea, as he had done a few years earlier with Joan when John had set sail. His thoughts wandered back to his childhood. How often had he sat right here, picnicking with Joan, just because she wanted to see John sail away? When she had told him, he had felt a sting of jealousy. Those picnics, he had realised, had not been for him, but only for the love Joan had felt for John. These picnics had just been a cover so that Phil wouldn't suspect anything.

How much did he really know about Joan? She must have been pretty lonely over the years. She had assured him, just a few weeks ago, that she had been through worse and had come out smiling. Was that really true? Or had she applied self-denial tactics just as he himself did, only taking other courses of action? While he kept away from others, she had turned her energy to helping them. Why? As far as he knew, no-one had ever repaid the compliment and had helped her in return. So why bother?

_To be continued…_


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Martin had just left Louisa, when there was a knock at the cottage door. Louisa opened it a bit, puzzled and wondering which of the villagers wanted to poke their nose into Martin's affairs now.

When she opened the door, she was astonished to find Mary standing there.

"Hello, come in. I thought we didn't have an appointment today?"

"Hiya! It's just that I have a bit of time and thought maybe…maybe I could help?"

"That's very kind of you. Come in, but I don't think there is much you can do."

Louisa put the kettle on while Mary took a seat at the kitchen table. "By the way, William told me to thank you for contacting Mrs. Steele. She was a real help. William was even able to trace down that sister of the deceased. Everyone's invited, finally. He just still feels a bit guilty that he hadn't confirmed everything with Dr. Ellingham first."

"That's alright. I already told Martin that he doesn't have to bother with it anymore."

"Ehm…was that him I passed on the street walking uphill?"

"Might be. He just left, really."

"He looked…terrible, if you don't mind me saying so."

Louisa turned around quickly to face Mary. "He sure does. That _stupid_ man! You know where he was last night?"

"No? Did you find him where you expected him to be?"

"Sure enough – he was at Joan's farm! _All_ night!"

"But what for?"

"Allegedly sorting her papers, but he was cagey about _something_ when I came in. So I don't know."

"You know, I'm really worried. He hasn't slept all night, and he's hardly eaten anything since yesterday. I practically had to force some food down his throat just now."

Mary looked over to Louisa, worry and concern showing on her face.

"And were you able to help him? You know he needs your help now?"

"He doesn't want my help. What can I do? Well, I _did_ tell him that he has to do _something_ to sort himself out. That he can't go on like this for long. I told him that Peter and I will need him."

Louisa placed a mug in front of Mary and then sat down with her cuppa opposite her.

Mary paused a moment, and then addressed Louisa again in a serious tone. "Yes, but what did you _do_? You just didn't give him a lecture, did you?"

Louisa looked down at her cuppa, brushing a stray of hair out of her face. "What else could I have done?"

"Comfort him?" When Louisa didn't react, Mary continued. "By the look of him, he desperately needs to relax. Help him."

"I…I don't know how?"

"Surprise him with something he likes. Provide the perfect setting for him with everything he does and needs to relax. If you want to have some uninterrupted time together, William and I will be happy to look after Peter for a night. That would be no trouble at all. So just think about what Martin normally does to relax."

Louisa bit her lip a bit. She really thought about it. Martin and relaxation somehow didn't go together.

"He…doesn't relax."

"Don't give me that! Everyone needs something to restore their energy, especially in difficult times like this."

"No, I really don't think so. Not that I know of, anyway." Louisa added meekly.

Mary took another sip and then looked sternly at Louisa. "Do you know the man you're living with at all? Did you ever bother to find out what makes him tick?"

"Oh, that's not fair! You don't know him. Every conversation is like trying to get blood from a stone."

Mary put a hand on Louisa's. "Don't get me wrong, I don't want to criticize, but by the look of him he desperately needs something to get his mind off his bloody loss."

"Think about your time with him, happier times, and then try to remember when you've seen him most at ease."

"It's easy for you. I mean you and William…"

"Do you really think it is always a bed of roses? The perfect romance from the first moment 'til now?"

"You two seem so comfortable together."

"Because we've worked on our relationship. Not because we were blessed with the perfect love affair."

"I remember one time especially which was tough on William. We had just decided to move in together – and _we_ meaning William, me, William's two teenage daughters, my two teenage sons and William's housekeeper who was running around during the day. So it wasn't just cuddling close, it was a major logistical challenge!"

"We had already decided that we'd need a bigger house, and had found something, too. But there was a lot of work still left to be done."

"Just right then, William had to deal with a particularly difficult funeral, and I could see that all this was wearing him out. The kids were partying constantly, as they enjoyed the family addition of two teenagers of the opposite sex suddenly living under the same roof, none of the tradesmen holding a deadline, the costs exploding…."

"One evening, when the kids were especially noisy, I waited for him in the car outside his house. When he came home, I dragged him into the car before he came into the hustle and bustle."

"I organised some classical music for the car, put his passenger seat way back so that he was practically lying and told him to relax."

"I didn't speak during the whole drive, so that he could silently enjoy the music. He has a very broad taste in music, but music in general is very important to him."

"I drove to our new home. Still most of the rooms were not ready to move in, but I had made sure during the day that the bathroom was fully functional. I had bought lots of candles, so I could lead William into a candle-lit, perfectly installed bathroom."

"We took a bath together, just the two of us in that big, still quiet house. It had been exactly what he had needed, and he was far more relaxed afterwards. It gave him the strength to deal with the problems."

Louisa laughed out loud now, shaking her head vigorously.

"Why do you laugh? Do you think it's silly? It's too sentimental? Or do you believe that the men should pamper the women, not the other way around?"

"No, no. That's fine – for you. I just tried to imagine Martin – and me – in a bathtub together. That would be a glorious mess."

"Why? Have you ever tried it?"

"No, certainly not. First of all, he's too big for that…"

"That's rubbish. William's quite tall, too."

"But I doubt as…"

"He's 6'3''."

Louisa stopped to think. "That's _exactly_ the same height as Martin."

"You see. And I bet William is several pounds heavier than Martin, so you should be even more comfortable."

"Yes, but Martin never takes a bath."

"I'm not saying that it must be a bath. Just something he'd enjoy. Something unexpected. Something he didn't have to worry about. Spoil him."

"I don't know how you can spoil him best, but here's some random ideas of what I've found works with other couples: have a nice candlelight dinner, maybe followed by some quiet music, cuddling close watching a favourite film, a long walk, a picnic, maybe even a nightly picnic at the shore – that must be beautiful, maybe give him a massage, possibly with some aromatic oils. Well, or think of something completely different. He must have things that he likes. Try to find out. Maybe that'll also help you to get over this silly sleeping-separate-thing."

"What do you mean _silly_?"

"Oh come on, you are living under the same roof, you were attracted enough to produce a child, and each of you clearly shows that you still care about each other. Not sleeping in the same bed is like proving some strange point that I don't get."

Louisa bit her lip nervously. Maybe there was a bit more truth in Mary's words than she felt comfortable with.

"Well, truth is, things are a bit awkward between us since we stood each other up on our wedding day. I told you, he proposed and I accepted. The vicar had a cancellation, and so we were offered a date three weeks after."

"It's silly, really. We were both so excited, and we both thought it was right to do it as soon as possible – until the wedding day. We were both already in our finery when we both got cold feet, and instead at the altar, we met in his kitchen, where he was still contemplating, and I wanted to drop a letter off telling him why I couldn't do it."

"I think no relationship survives such a blow undamaged."

"Nonsense!" Mary contradicted. "Maybe you two simply take things too seriously. You both need to relax more. A called off wedding isn't the end of the world – not even the end of a relationship."

"For you it's easy to say." Louisa protested, but was astonished when Mary genuinely started to laugh. "What?"

"You really do think you're the only ones with a rocky relationship."

"Well, I suppose ours is a bit…"

"…a bit of work, which is absolutely normal. Don't you think William and I never thought about getting married? It seemed important to him and I didn't mind. And yes, we too had a wedding date settled. And yes, we too were already in our finery. We even made it to the altar, but when the priest asked that standard question if anyone has anything to say against this marriage, my bloody ex showed up and declared that we had gotten married in Las Vegas years back and were never divorced."

"You were already married?" Louisa asked shocked.

"No, of course not. Do you really think I would have dragged William into church if there had been any commitment before? But a marriage in Las Vegas is hard to prove – or to disprove. It certainly can't be done without interrupting the ceremony. So, the vicar wasn't allowed to marry us. We talked about it afterwards a couple of times, but finally decided that it was just a formality and that the bond between us is stronger than any ring or certificate."

"You simply take these symbols too seriously. Nothing matters except caring for each other, being there when the other one needs you, feeling safe in each others arms."

Louisa had grown silent. Mary had given her something to think about. She really thought getting over that blasted non-wedding was their main problem. Mary had a point when she made Louisa realise that the lack of understanding – _mutual_ understanding – was by far the greater obstacle. And it was stupid to expect _Martin_ to make the first move. There was no law – neither legal nor natural – that she couldn't be the one trying to figure out what made him tick.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the telephone.

"Hello?"

"Louisa? Can I talk to Dr. Ellingham?"

"Is that you, William?"

"Yes, we were supposed to meet, but somehow Dr. Ellingham must have been held up. I just wanted to know if he is late or can't make it at all."

"You mean, he is _not_ at the parlour right now?"

"Of course not, would I phone otherwise?"

"But he left here around one thirty. He should have been early, rather than late!"

"That's strange. He didn't show up."

"OK, I will try his mobile and have a look. I'll call you when I know something definite."

Mary had sat on her seat's edge since she had realised who was on the phone.

"Anything wrong?"

"Martin missed his appointment with William." Louisa sounded shell-shocked.

"Maybe he met someone and forgot the time…"

"No, not Martin. He never _meets_ someone. He thinks very highly of punctuality, he would never miss a meeting, except in case of an emergency."

Louisa called Martin's mobile, but she was told that the person called was temporarily unavailable. She called at Joan's farm, just in case, but also without any result.

She rushed out of the door.

"His car's here, so he must be in the village."

"Couldn't he have walked anywhere?"

"Martin's not really an outdoor person, and if he can take the car, he would do. Besides, he _did_ have this appointment. And his medical bag is here, so he can't be at an emergency. But where can he be?"

"Sorry, Mary, but I really have to try to find him."

"I understand. Shall I stay here and look after Peter?"

"That'll be great. Would make it much easier for me. That _stupid _man!"

_To be continued…_


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Louisa rushed outside, and then she was uncertain, where she should go. She rushed downhill, stopping at the pharmacy to ask if he had been there.

Mrs. Tishell couldn't believe how Louisa could neglect the Doc so much that she didn't even care where he was. _She_ certainly would take better care of the Doc.

Louisa left the love-struck chemist behind and rushed further towards the village centre. She tried every place she could think of, asked in every shop and pub, questioned everybody if they had seen the Doc. Few people had seen him, but no one knew where he had headed to.

Quite desperate and without any further information, Louisa finally returned home. Mary tried her best to comfort her, but Louisa was worried sick. He would never leave the village on foot, but he was not in the village. So where could he be?

In the meantime Martin was still sitting on the cliff, overlooking the sea, lost in thoughts of guilt, responsibilities and missed opportunities. He remembered the many happy holidays at Joan's farm, and the despair when he wasn't allow to come.

He thought of the past and the present, but most of all he was thinking of Joan. It wasn't that he was really mourning, it was more remembering her. He still couldn't believe that she was gone. Definitely, unchangeably gone.

Still sitting in the grass, Martin noted that the sun slowly approached the horizon. He had lost any sense of time by now, as he had spent the last few hours as much in the past as in the present or the future. All tenses were tumbling together.

Realising that it would soon be dark, he decided to go into the house. Almost automatically, he put the kettle on to prepare himself a cup of coffee. Joan didn't have such a high-quality coffee-machine as he had, but that was in London anyhow.

He prepared his cup and drank it silently. Everything was silent, inside and outside of him. When he had finished the coffee, he automatically rinsed it. Almost without noticing, he also took a wet cloth to wipe the sink after he had cleaned the cup.

Against the now shiny sink, the tiles looked quite greasy, so he put some cleansing agents on the cloth and started to wipe the tiles. When he was at it, he could also wipe the table….

He had completely forgotten about the time. He was systematically cleaning and tidying up the house from top to bottom. Not that he had planned on doing so, it just happened.

Whenever he had finished one task, another corner in not optimal condition caught his eye.

It was only when he saw the first beams of the morning sun shine through the freshly cleaned windows that he realised that he had spent the whole night cleaning and now the house was in shipshape and Bristol fashion.

He turned around and realised that there was nothing he could possibly do. Suddenly he felt utterly tired. He suddenly remembered Louisa and realised that she might be worried. He grabbed his mobile just to find out that he had forgotten to re-charge it. This blasted thing was dead as could be.

He also remembered that he didn't have his car with him.

"Oh goody." He sighed. "Exactly what I fancy right now – hiking back to Portwenn."

He went downstairs to prepare himself another coffee. There was hardly anything to eat left. While drinking his coffee, he could hear Phil Pratt feeding the chickens. Martin decided not to make himself known. He didn't fancy facing anyone right now.

When he was sure that Phil Pratt had left, he had one last look around the now shining farm, then straightened his jacket and left.

He was just about to head towards the Coastal Path leading to Portwenn, when a van stopped at the farm, almost running Martin over.

"Bloody hell! Be careful where you're going!" Martin started to rant.

"Sorry, mate. I was told to pitch a tent here. Miss Glasson called me yesterday. You don't know by any chance where I should put it?"

Martin remembered Louisa mentioning a tent for the wake. He looked around and then decided on a spot where the tent could be erected.

"Thanks, mate! You saved me. Forgot my mobile, so I couldn't call for instructions, so I fancied I had to drive the whole way down to Portwenn just to find out where to put this bloody tent."

"You're driving into the village afterwards?"

"No, there's a school fete I have to prepare but that's in the opposite direction. So I really have to hurry to get this one up. Wouldn't have done it at all if it weren't for Miss Glasson. You can't, by any chance, lend me a hand?"

Martin was functioning automatically by now and certainly didn't have any strength to contradict. Automatically, he grabbed some poles and together with this stranger he silently built the tent. This stranger was really grateful for Martin's help, as with him being so tall he didn't have to use the ladder the way he would have done himself, with his medium build.

Martin held the poles, fastened screws and fastened the tent pegs. Finally, the white tent stood proudly in front of the farm.

The stranger thanked Martin for his help, jumped in his van and drove off. Martin sighed heavily, then started to walk towards Portwenn.

His mind was blank by now. He was tired and felt every bone in his body. He could smell the sea and hear the wind, but he couldn't think of anything. Half-way, he realised that clouds were gathering.

"Great, exactly what I need." He muttered, and pulled the collar of his jacket tighter to his neck.

Moments later it started to pour, but Martin trudged forward, rain dripping from his hair.

_To be continued…_


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Around 10 am, there was a knock on Louisa's door. When she opened it, she was overjoyed and shocked, at the same time.

She found herself face to face with Martin – completely drenched, unshaved, his suit crumpled and dirty, his whole appearance slightly dishevelled and his face completely blank.

"Goodness gracious! Where have you been? Well, come out of the rain first!"

"Sorry, Louisa…" Martin started to stutter "…I was walking, and then I found myself at Joan's, and when I realised that the sun was setting…." His voice trailed off as he shrugged his shoulders.

"Joan's farm? You were at Joan's farm? Don't tell me you walked all the way?"

"Actually, I…"

"But why?"

"I…it just…happened."

Louisa started to remove his jacket.

"You are completely soaked! Get out of your clothes immediately, or you'll catch a cold."

Martin stood there dumbfounded and nodded. Louisa pushed him towards the stairs.

"Why didn't you answer your mobile? I tried to call you, oh, I don't know how often."

"It isn't charged. Sorry. I forgot."

"Silly man, but I'm sorry, Martin, I've got to go in a couple of minutes. I agreed to meet with some other women to clean Joan's farm, so everything will be ready for the wake tomorrow."

By now Louisa had managed to shuffle Martin into the bathroom.

"That's not necessary. I scrubbed the place top to bottom. It should be clean."

"You – what? Why?"

"Oh, I don't know. I made myself some coffee. When I rinsed the cup, I noticed that the sink needed to be cleaned …and before I knew it, the sun rose and I had cleaned the house."

Louisa shook her head.

"OK, I will call the cleaning off, then. When the tent's erected…"

"Oh, the tent is there, alright. A bloke delivered it this morning and we put it up together."

"You certainly have been busy."

Louisa placed some towels into Martin's arm. "And now take a shower while I fix you some breakfast and coffee."

"Actually, I'm not very…"

"Nonsense. Shut up."

Louisa closed the door behind herself and then went downstairs to fix breakfast, but first she called the women she had planned to meet to clean Joan's place.

Martin let the warm water run over his face and it had a very relaxing effect. After he had dried himself and shaved he went into his room to put a fresh suit on.

On his way down the stairs, he could smell the lovely scent of fresh coffee. He approached the kitchen area to find scrambled eggs on toast and a steaming pot of coffee on the table.

"Sit down and eat." Louisa ordered, while sitting down opposite Martin. She inspected him closely and decided there was something definitely disturbing about him. It was his eyes, which showed no expression at all. Those light blue eyes that always gave him away, somehow, were now absolutely blank. She concluded that he must feel completely empty. It wouldn't be any wonder as he obviously hadn't slept properly again.

She silently watched Martin nibble at his toast and poke around at his scrambled eggs, while wholeheartedly embracing the cup of coffee. He looked down at his plate, hardly raising his head.

Finally he declared his breakfast was finished, while the plate was still half full. Louisa didn't argue, but put the plate away. When she turned around to ask Martin about his plans for today and tell him to get some rest, Peter finally stirred.

"Sorry, Martin. Someone else wants his lunch."

Martin looked towards his son, but when Louisa prepared to breast-feed, he was quite embarrassed and got up and turned around.

"Martin, don't leave. I need you for something."

"Right." He sighed and went over to the little seating area just in front of the windows. When little Ellingham/Glasson had finished his meal, Louisa carried their son over to Martin.

"Burp him for me, will you?"

Martin reached for his offspring and rested him against his shoulder, slightly massaging his back. Under the gentle rubs, the air in the stomach was released, together with some milk. Nevertheless, Martin continued rubbing the baby's back, burying his face into the small body which lay perfectly against his shoulder.

Meanwhile Louisa busied herself in the kitchen. It was a pleasant change to be able to do all the necessary tasks without having to entertain Peter at the same time. She had found out during the last couple of days what a tremendous task it was to care for a child all by yourself. She had to admit that she had underestimated the extreme work load a newborn represents and after having Martin around from the start, she had got used to sharing the tasks. Having to do it all by herself the last few days had proved to her how stupid she had been to think she could easily raise a child on her own while working full time.

After the washing up was done and the washing machine was filled with more baby clothes, she turned around to look at how her two men were doing.

While holding his son tight to him, Martin's head had fallen back, eyes tightly shut and by his breathing she could tell that he had fallen asleep. She approached them, smiling at the harmonious picture the two of them gave. She caressed the baby's head tenderly.

"Thanks, Peter, for putting him to rest. You're quite good at this. Now, keep quiet and let your father get some sleep."

Peter gurgled in response.

Louisa tried to release Peter from Martin's grip, but he was holding his son firmly, so Louisa stopped her attempts. She then tried to lift Martin's feet so that he was in a more lying position and therefore more comfortable, but Martin was definitely too heavy, so her efforts were fruitless.

So she decided there was very little she could do to make things more comfortable for Martin. She went to get some cushions and a blanket. She stuffed the cushions into Martin's neck, and his head immediately settled deep into them. Then she fingered in his coat pocket to get the mobile, before covering Martin's large frame with the blanket. She took his mobile to charge it.

After preparing herself a cuppa, she realised that there was nothing much that she could do. She needed to do some hoovering and ironing, but either activities were bound to wake Martin up. The washing machine was already doing its job, and thanks to Martin's meticulous housework during the first weeks at home, there was hardly anything left that needed sorting out.

So, Louisa took the phone off the hook, switched her mobile to mute, then took her tea, got today's paper and settled opposite Martin. She would treat herself to the rare luxury of quietly reading the paper. How rare this simple pleasure had become? Besides, she didn't dare go too far away in case Peter stirred or Martin moved in his sleep letting the baby slip or put undue pressure on him.

But Louisa couldn't read the paper undisturbed. Her eyes were drawn to Martin. She thought about everything that had happened to him these last few weeks. The unexpected turns his life had taken. The additions, losses, changes and unsolved matters in his formerly well ordered life. For someone, whose life had always run smoothly like one of the clocks he liked to fix, this turmoil must be quite distressing.

Maybe it was easier for her. Her approach to life was different. Her childhood experiences left her with the conviction that there was very little you could be sure of in life. Circumstances could change quickly, so it didn't really make sense to plan too far ahead, as there were too many unknown factors in that equation. So she took what life threw at her and tried to make the best of it.

Maybe that's why she found Martin so fascinating – he was so dependable, and it seemed nothing could change him or shake him up. It was infuriating – and intriguing. He was everything she wasn't.

She looked at him, studying him intensely. He looked more peaceful, now that he was sleeping. Louisa had a very strange suspicion – his son gave him security. She knew that this thought was silly, as it should be the other way around. However, she had observed over the last few weeks what she never had thought possible – Martin felt comfortable in his son's presence.

She looked at the two of them in front of her, now both peacefully asleep, resting against each other, giving each other a feeling of safety.

That was her family. Strange, rocky, unconventional as it may be. But she didn't have any other, and to be honest, she didn't want to swap it for anything in the world.

She got up and walked over, standing directly in front of them, towering above Martin for a change, looking closely at his features.

Oh, how she remembered everything about him. During her pregnancy, her vivid memories had been painful. Now, they bore again the hint of anticipation. His educated hands. His full, sensual lips. The short, silky hair – grey, but still quite full. She once read that if a man hadn't started to lose his hair until he was 39, he probably wouldn't. So Martin should be fine. Good, as she loved running her hands over his hair. In the last few weeks she had to withstand that notion several times, and she felt again the urge to take advantage, now that he was sleeping.

She couldn't look into his eyes right now, his pale blue eyes, which were so expressive. However, his face was so much more handsome now, fast asleep and therefore soft, vulnerable, not distorted by disgust, not hardened so as to not let anyone see the sweet, gentle man lurking inside.

Mary had been right – right in asking, and right in the answer she had given herself. Now, watching him, she knew that she still loved him. There must be a way that they could find a level of communication, a way to connect. They said that love conquered all. She didn't know, as she had never seen it happen. Could she make it happen? Could they make it happen together?

Mary had said what Louisa had known to be true before – relationships are hard work. Had she ever put enough work into this relationship?

She was determined to find out. This time, she wanted to know where they stood, once and for all. She owed Joan that much. Joan had always taken her side, even when Louisa knew that Joan had cared deeply for her nephew. Now Joan wasn't around anymore to look after him.

"I will take care of him, don't you worry, Joan." Louisa whispered. "He is in good hands, and I will try not to let him slip away again. Honestly I will."

Thinking about Joan and Martin, Louisa remembered the missed appointment with William Shawcross. Checking that Peter was still safely lying against Martin, Louisa slipped out to call William.

She explained to him the events of yesterday, apologising for Martin not turning up. William pointed out that there were still some things to discuss before the funeral. Everything was planned, but he needed Martin's consent in some matters. Considering that he was still peacefully sleeping, Louisa tried to fix a rather late appointment, so they agreed on 4 pm. Louisa also made sure, that Mary wouldn't turn up. They didn't have an appointment, but Mary seemed to be concerned about their little family and therefore tended to show up unexpectedly.

Louisa went back inside, and this time really picked up the paper to read it. After a while, little Glasson/Ellingham started to stir. Louisa tried to pick up her son carefully without waking Martin. When she tried to pull her son away from him, he tightened his grip, mumbling in his sleep.

"It's OK, Martin. Peter is hungry, I'll just feed him." Louisa's assurance made Martin sigh and nestle back into the cushions.

Louisa managed to feed the baby and keep him entertained, so that he didn't make too much noise. While bouncing her son on her knees and reciting nursery rhymes in a whisper, she looked over to Martin, who was still asleep. At least he could catch up on some much needed rest.

Around 3 pm Louisa decided that she had to wake up Martin, even though she didn't like to. He had to get ready for his appointment with Shawcross. She put her son down, who was definitely grouchy due to this negligence.

She sat next to Martin, telling him in low voice that it was time to get up. He just mumbled and turned his head away. She kept on telling him to wake up, but with little effect. Finally, she put her hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently. He made some guttural noises and stirred. Swallowing a bit, he finally opened his eyes, looking into Louisa's.

"Lousia?"

"How are you feeling, a bit better?"

"I…ehhh…sorry."

"What for?"

"I…must have dozed off."

"No, Martin. You slept. And it was about time."

Martin stared at her. When was the last time her face had been that close? In that pub, during the birth, they had been that close – and closer. But since then? Martin couldn't help but stare at her.

Louisa looked intensely into Martin's eyes. He looked better, quieter. Maybe because he was still not fully awake. There was such a longing in his look, that Louisa felt the urge to kiss him gently on the lips. The longer the quiet staring continued, the more intense the closeness became, Louisa leant in and slowly neared her lips to his. She was satisfied to see that he was closing his eyes and leaned forward slightly.

She was just an inch away, when he suddenly cleared his throat and jerked away.

"Oh…uhm…sorry."

_Bloody man_ Louisa thought.

Martin shook his head, as if he tried to clear it. "Sorry that I occupied your seat at this untimely hour."

"That's alright. You needed the rest."

He nervously looked around, then down at him. "Peter?"

"Is fine. When he started to stir, I took the liberty of taking him off you."

He looked more and more confused now. "What time is it anyway?"

"Just after three."

He stared at her and blinked wildly. With slightly cracking voice he croaked. "What? That means I…"

"…that means you could catch up with at least some of the sleep you have missed recently."

"But I should have called Shawcross ages ago!"

"Don't worry, I called him and made an appointment for 4 pm. Hope that's OK. You've got plenty of time. Time for a bite, first."

"You…what?"

"I'm….sorry…but I thought." Suddenly Louisa felt flustered. Martin tried to sort his thoughts.

"No…no. I'd better go, then." He straightened his coat and tie.

"A salad is waiting for you. You actually do have enough time for it."

"Ehm…I'm just not…." He stopped in mid-sentence seeing Louisa's accusing look.

_To be continued…_


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

At 4 pm sharp, Martin strode into Mr. Shawcross' office. Louisa had been right about one thing – he had really needed the rest. He felt refreshed and hoped, that now he could handle the encounter with the undertaker.

He was determined to go through the facts and then be out in 15 minutes maximum.

"Hello, Dr. Ellingham. Glad you could make it. Take a seat."

"Right."

"Well, yesterday…"

"Ah, Mr. Shawcross, about yesterday, I mean…something came up."

"Sure, you must have a lot on your plate. At a time like this…"

"So let's get to the point."

"Right. I know it's a bit late, but would you like to have a look at the guest list?"

The undertaker handed him a sheet of paper. Martin scanned through the names, but recognised not even a third of them. Probably local yokels. He found, however, all the names that he would have put on it and saw with satisfaction that one name was _not _on the list.

"The pallbearers are marked with a cross." William explained. Martin scanned the list again, nodding several times. Suddenly he exclaimed "No!".

"Something's wrong?"

"Which _idiot_ decided that _Bert Large_ can carry the coffin? He can just about carry himself, sort of. Remove him!"

"But we need six pallbearers, and he himself was very insistent that he wants to do that for Joan Norton."

"He should have paid his bills in time, that's something he could have done for her. Unless you want to have a double funeral, remove him."

"Any suggestions for a replacement?"

Again Martin's eyes went down the row of names, considering the males he knew.

"Penhale. He's a moron, but strong and fit. Just putting his shoulder under a coffin and walking straight should be manageable even for him."

With that, Martin handed the paper back to Mr. Shawcross. William looked as professional as ever, but couldn't help but disapprove of the way his client talked about the villagers.

"So we're done?" Martin asked, already getting up to leave.

"Not quite."

"Oh?" Martin slumped back on his seat, looking demonstratively at his watch.

"See, the wake…"

"Is organised by the women's association, I take it? I hope that the hygiene standards are at least vaguely met, but with this germ-infested backwater, the tolerance level is a bit higher than in civilised areas."

'_Arse_' thought William. "I'm sure they'll make a lovely reception. Home-made food's always the best."

Martin grunted, then asked. "Done?"

"Well, as far as I understand the will is to be read, too. Is everything prepared for that?"

"The solicitor is on the guest list I noted. One of the Portwenn peculiarities being that somehow some people are present whatever happens. I wonder when they will get their work done. They probably don't. As the food will be served in the tent, all people involved can go into the house for the reading of the will."

"Of course, that's a good idea." '_I wonder how he could stand spending years in this village when he loathes it so much. Makes him staying for the sake of Louisa and the baby even more remarkable._' Aloud he continued. "Are you familiar with the will?"

"I helped my aunt to make it. It's never too early to think of those things, as you can be dead sooner than you expect, especially with a less than optimal life style such as hers."

"So no surprises there?"

"No."

"May I ask…"

"It's none of your business." Martin barked at the undertaker.

"Sure, of course not, but sometimes it can lead to some nasty scenes if people get less than expected, and if this is known before, precautions can be taken not to let that spoil the remembrance of the majority."

"No surprises, at least not for people present. Are we done?"

"There is the matter of the hymns. I don't have a list for the hymns that should be sung. Mrs. Tishell, who will play the organ, assured me she's familiar with all usual pieces played for funerals, but we need the final choice tomorrow morning first thing."

Martin groaned.

"Something wrong, Dr. Ellingham?"

"I thought you'd already picked some, the usual stuff."

"I can't choose the hymns without consulting the client. Are there any favourites of the deceased that you would like to be played?"

"She won't hear them anyhow, will she?"

William cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Maybe as a gesture of remembrance, a tribute?"

"I doubt she went to church much, she was far too busy on her farm for such nonsense. She was the practical type, not very spiritual."

"So you don't know any of her favourite hymns? Then maybe something you would like to be played?"

"To be frank, Mr. Shawcross, since I left school where we had to attend services on a regular basis, I've hardly ever set foot in any church again. I can't really remember any hymns. I thought you would provide this as part of the service. What are you paid for? Just putting her in the box?"

"It's just that most customers like to have a personal touch, so we usually do not interfere with their choices."

"Well, play the usual stuff, and if you need any advice, maybe you can ask Roger Fenn. He is good with music and such."

"I'm sure we can come up with a suitable list of hymns which will provide the right atmosphere to say good-bye properly."

"Right. You were able to secure the plot in the cemetery next to her late husband, weren't you?"

"Of course, it was no problem. There had been some arrangements made before. The couple will be reunited in death."

"Rubbish!" Martin spat out in disgust. "But it makes it easier to care for. Not so much running around."

"Of course, Dr. Ellingham. The practical aspects shouldn't be neglected."

"Right, are we done now?"

"There is just one more thing."

Martin groaned quite enervated.

"You see, we prepare the deceased for the funeral so that she is looking as natural as possible. Ms. Glasson had provided some nice clothes for Mrs. Norton and I tried to capture her spirit as well as I could according to some photos I've got, but I'd really like to have a close relative to approve of the work before the funeral starts."

"Gawd, is that really necessary?"

"Look, I might not be in one of the most liveliest professions, but I do take pride in my work and try to do it the best I can. As things are now, I do not know if my work has been satisfactory. Besides, you don't want her to be laid out looking – not right."

"OK, if it's necessary."

William Shawcross lead the way to the place where Joan lay, prepared for her last journey. Martin followed stiffly. The moment he saw his aunt laid out in fine clothes after being prepared by the skilful hands of William Shawcross, Martin gulped. This was tougher than he'd expected. He studied her face, and with her eyes closed she really just looked as if she was taking a nap. Her complexion seemed fine, but his brain told him that this couldn't be, except for the art of the undertaker.

Martin had to remind himself strongly that his aunt would never open her eyes again, that this was a charade, a masquerade played for the mourners.

Nevertheless, he couldn't help but wait for her to wake up and shout at him "You stupid boy.", mixed with the loving expression only she ever had for him.

He remembered his holidays on the farm. On some days, when she had worked especially hard on the farm, when it had been extremely hot or she simply didn't feel very well, she had had the habit of dozing off in an armchair after lunch, taking a little nap. Sometimes, he had rushed in after exploring the Cornish nature, and when he had caught a specimen for his collection of butterflies and beetles, he had barged in and sometimes had woken her up. He could still hear her sleepy voice '_My, my, boy. Easy. Give your old aunt some rest, will ye.'_

Now she had her rest, a rest that he, with all his insensitive blustering, couldn't possibly disturb.

He still was staring at her face when Shawcross' telephone in the office next door rung.

"Do you mind if I answer the call? You can take your time here, if you'd like."

Martin nodded absentmindedly, while William left him alone with his aunt. Slowly, Martin sat down on a little stool next to her.

Without really realising that he was talking to a body, he put his hand on hers.

"Oh, Aunty Joan!" He sighed. "How can you do this to me? You insisted that I should see my own child as soon as possible and live up to my responsibilities. Right, here I am."

"You got me where you wanted me to be. You always knew better when it came to people. You always knew me better. You had the confidence in me that I might make a fairly decent father, at least a better one than my own. Only because you had that confidence, I dared to offer Louisa my help."

"But I trusted that I would have you around for advice. How _dare_ you to leave me alone like this! You put me into this situation."

"Do you really think it comes easy to me? Yes, yes I know what you would say – just a reason to work twice as hard."

"I really do work hard, believe me, but I don't understand what is expected of me. Louisa doesn't tell me. I can just see when she's cross with me because I haven't lived up to some of her expectations. How am I supposed to know? I was depending on _you_ to tell me. How the hell could you dare to leave me now!"

Martin had bent his head down, almost touching her hand with his head now, while he struggled with her.

Meanwhile, Shawcross glanced into the room. Now Dr. Ellingham was saying goodbye properly. It was never good to have some unfinished business with the deceased. Better to get it off your chest while you could still see them. He had consulted Louisa about his dilemma, that he wanted to make Dr. Ellingham see his aunt before she was carried away. She had suggested that there was only one chance to make him see her – if he thought it was his duty. Dr. Martin Ellingham would never back out from any duty. If Shawcross wanted to make sure that Martin would take his time to say goodbye, it would have been essential that he was alone with her, not feeling watched. That's why he'd arranged the fake phone call.

What he saw now, was very satisfactory to him. He wasn't actually in earshot, but he could see that Dr. Ellingham was talking, and he saw that he had covered the hands of his aunt with his. The moment he lowered his head, William Shawcross decided that this man needed a bit more solitary time to come to terms with his loss and deserved some privacy to do so. William Shawcross went back to his desk to work on his bookkeeping.

_To be continued…_


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Time passed by, and William Shawcross was able to catch up with quite a good deal of his paper work. He looked at his watch, and it revealed that he should have been home half an hour ago. He was not in any trouble though, as Mary knew that he didn't do his job by the book and that he'd take his time when necessary. He got up from his desk and watched through the glass panel of the door to the mortuary.

Dr. Ellingham still had his hands on his aunt's and it seemed to Shawcross that he was still talking to her.

Shawcross wasn't sure what to do. It had been so hard to get Dr. Ellingham to finally face his grief that it seemed unfair to interrupt him now. On the other hand, he himself wanted to get home to his wife and son, and to be honest, he felt a bit peckish.

However, he couldn't bring himself to interrupt that scene, so he went back to his desk. There was nothing important left to do, so it really would make more sense to go home.

He went towards the mortuary once more, but stopped half-way and stood indecisively in the middle of the room, looking from the desk to the door and back again. Finally, he sighed.

"What the heck, it's not London, after all." Then he sat down at his desk, took a white paper from the printer, and wrote something on it. Then he looked for a pin.

Minutes later, he was strolling through Portwenn's main street towards his home.

On his way, he passed Louisa's cottage and knocked.

"Oh, hello William." Looking past him, she worriedly asked. "Where's Martin? Has he missed his appointment again?"

She shot a glance in direction to the Lexus, which was still at its place.

"No, no. We had a very successful meeting, mainly thanks to you." William assured her, nodding in her direction.

"You mean…"

"The trick about it being his duty to look to see if his aunt was prepared properly worked just dandy. Although, I have to confess that he got to me before – he really makes it hard to like him, doesn't he?"

Louisa sighed. "So what did he do this time?"

"Oh, just some remarks that could have been nicer. He doesn't think highly about people, it seems."

"Well, you're right. There don't seem to be many people around which he might at least classify as _competent_, and that might be the highest praise you can get from him."

"But he must have befriended someone, after all these years he's spent here? Especially as people seem to be quite friendly here."

Louisa looked sadly. "He doesn't socialise. He didn't even come to the pub when I celebrated my promotion to head teacher, although I asked him to."

"Must be tough for you. You seem to be…"

"Yeah, I like to go out sometimes. Meet people, chat, have a laugh and a drink."

"And he?"

"Stays at home and offers to baby-sit. At least it has some advantages."

"Right." William looked into direction of his funereal parlour. "A miserable old sod."

"Well, to be fair, he really doesn't have anyone down here who is his intellectual equal, not even close, so maybe he really finds our conversations just a tad boring."

"Well, maybe he is a bit too clever for his own good. It doesn't seem to make him any happier, though."

Louisa laughed. "No, happy is not _exactly_ the word you think of when you think about him." She put her hand on William's arm. "But I'm such poor host, letting you stand in front of the door! Come in."

"No, I'm really just stopping by on my way home."

"Right. You still could have a drink, if you like?"

"No, thanks. I should have been home ages ago, and I've got to hurry to be in time for Tommy's bedtime story. He'll be grouchy tomorrow if I let him down."

"It's just, I waited as long as I could for Dr. Ellingham, but when I saw him talking to his aunt in the mortuary, I couldn't bring myself to disturb him. I left him a note and the key, telling him to lock the place when he leaves. He can take his time. I just wanted to let you know, so that you can check if he has locked everything and has thrown the key through the mail-box, as I told him in the note. I've got a set of spare keys at home, so it'll be alright. And he doesn't have to worry about the hymns, we'll arrange that."

"You mean….you left Martin at the funeral parlour? Alone?"

"It seemed such a shame to interrupt him, and I have done as much paperwork as was reasonable. And to be honest, I wanted to go home. Sorry."

"I've got to go to him!" Louisa exclaimed, reaching for the keys.

"No, don't." William stopped her calmly. "He has to say goodbye alone and in quiet. It seems he has some unfinished business with his aunt, and he'll never come to terms if you show up, and he hadn't finished his struggle yet. Let him alone."

"But, you don't know him!"

"No, that's true, but I have seen people mourn for decades, and there are several types of grief. I'd say he feels deserted, let down and guilty about something he didn't do while he still could. He has to come to terms with that. And the only one who can help him now is his aunt."

"But…"

"I know, it sounds odd that a dead person should be the only one to help him, but he has to learn to let her go. And that means that he has to do it when he's ready, not because he is interrupted. He has to reach the point when there is nothing that he wants to say to her, nothing that he wants to ask her, and then he can let her go. Give him that chance."

"Can't I do anything for him?"

"Be there for him when he comes back. He will feel an emptiness, now that he has to realise the gap his aunt will be leaving in his life. Be there to fill the void. He will need you more than ever. But not right now. Now he has to go through this alone."

"You're sure?"

"Trust me, I've been doing this job for longer than I like to remember. I grew up in this job. It's always most difficult for those who try to fight their emotions. No matter how much I disliked some parts of our conversation, I can't help but think that there is something very tender hidden inside him, a little boy that took shelter from the world inside a very capable, brilliant, harsh man. This little boy has to find the way to the surface to say goodbye to his aunt. Don't drive him away."

Louisa put the key back on the board. "If you're sure?"

"Good night. See you tomorrow at the funeral."

"Yeah, have a nice evening." Louisa said somehow defeated. She didn't like the thought that she could make the situation worse for Martin. She always thought that offering someone comfort and being there – physically present – in their hour of need was the right thing to do.

However, she had to admit that it had never worked with Martin that way. In a way, William was right, Martin always had his defences up in her company.

She went inside, took Peter up for a cuddle, and tried to imagine Martin in the cold, dim mortuary with only Joan as company.

"Peter," she whispered into the ear of her son, "promise me that you'll never be tight as a clam like him. You can be brilliant like him, honest like him, dependable like him, and you could do worse than to look like him – but please don't become as lonely and isolated."

Peter gurgled in response, fidgeting his arms through the air.

"No, I know. You're much too jolly for that."

As if to prove it, Peter made a face that could almost count as a smile. Louisa's heart warmed and she gave her son a good cuddle.

A bit later, she put Peter into his basket on the sofa and prepared herself a bite to eat. She had waited for Martin until now, but now she decided she needed something and couldn't wait longer. After her sparse meal, she washed up.

Then she paced the room, impatiently waiting for Martin's return.

"This is ridiculous!" She scolded herself. "Either you go there now to fetch him, or you stop waiting, but pacing like this just makes you nervous."

She grabbed a cardigan, as the evening air was already a bit fresh, and then took her keys when two thoughts stopped her – first, what should she do with Peter (she couldn't leave him alone here and it didn't seem suitable or practical to take him with her); second, what if William was right and she'd just interrupt the grief?

Again, she hung the keys back on the board, put her cardigan away and sat down. To distract herself, she switched on the telly and hopped through channels with quiz shows, reality TV, talk shows and crime dramas. The inventiveness of producers seemed to be quite limited, nowadays. Finally, she stopped at some documentary on BBC4.

Louisa woke up, lying on the sofa and covered with a blanket. She reached over where she had left the baby basket, but the place was empty. When she was just about to jump up, she heard her son crying over the baby monitor. Before she could react, she could hear something else.

"Now, now, young man. We don't want to wake your mother, do we? I'll take care of this mess first and then I'll have a look to see if there are some bottles in the fridge."

Peter made noises of protest.

"Of course I will warm it up, first. I'm not a complete moron. So let's see…"

Louisa smiled and then leaned down on the sofa, to nestle into the cushion, that had miraculously appeared since the evening. She listened to father and son on the baby monitor. After some rustling, Martin could be heard again.

"Your mum must have been exhausted last night. What did you do to her? I've never found her asleep on the sofa before. During the night, it is quite chilly and the body cools quite quickly during sleep."

"Wait, stop! We're not finished yet, so stay where you are! And keep still, we don't want any mess, do we?"

Louisa had to chuckle at the panic in Martin's voice. He really hated any kind of mess.

"Right, that's better. I'll be finished in a moment, so hold still."

_As if Peter already understood him. Well, that's Martin for you._

"Tell me, Peter, she didn't try to stay awake to wait for me, did she? I sure hope she didn't. That stupid Shawcross! It was all his fault. He really had the nerve to leave without a word, leaving me alone in the mortuary. I didn't pay attention to the time. After all, he just went out to take a phone call. How long can one bloody phone call take?"

Peter whimpered in response.

"You are absolutely right. He didn't play fair and square, that bastard! Sorry about the language." Martin quickly corrected himself.

Louisa downstairs chuckled.

Peter started to cry.

"Shhh, young man! I don't know when Louisa finally got some sleep, and spending the night on the sofa isn't as comfortable as her bed would have been."

Peter made a disapproving sound.

"Yes, you _are_ right. I should have put her to bed, but the stairs are too steep. I was afraid I would drop her. And I certainly didn't want to wake her, either. So getting some cushions and putting the blanket over her was really all I could do."

Peter grunted his approval.

"Let's see what shall we put on, now that you are a clean baby."

Again Louisa could hear some rustling.

"Here, don't you think that would be suitable? After all, we want you to look nice. We owe that to Joan." Martin let out a huge sigh, which made Louisa sit bolt upright. She thought for a moment to go upstairs to comfort Martin, but then she would have to admit that she had been eavesdropping, which would embarrass Martin.

_Why is this man always so bloody difficult!_

"I'm so sorry, Peter. If I had taken better care of her, if I had been more insistent regarding her blood pressure – you might have actually known her. You would have liked her. She was very good with children. Such a shame that she couldn't have any, while my parents…" Another huge sigh finished the sentence.

_Martin, tell me about your parents, about your childhood. Maybe I'd understand you better, then._

"Anyhow, young man. She was so happy about your birth. She pushed me to take responsibility."

Another grunt expressed Peter's disapproval.

"Yes, I'm sorry. I just thought you might be better off without me."

The baby monitor went quiet for a moment, and Louisa looked concerned towards the stairs.

"I was so very stupid." Martin whispered almost inaudibly. "Auntie Joan always knew how to tell me some home truths. She never let me off the hook. She would have given great guidance to you too. You just don't know what you've missed. Sorry for not taking better care of her for you."

Peter whimpered almost constantly now, and his wailing grew louder.

"You must be hungry. Look, I'll put you back into your bed for a moment, and then I check if your mummy left anything for you in the fridge. You stay here."

Louisa could hear his steps, and when she could hear the door she quickly disappeared again under the blanket. She didn't want Martin to know or suspect that she had heard his little private scene with his son.

Before she could hear his steps on the stairs, she heard his voice once again reminding the baby: "And please be quiet!"

Martin tried to descend the stairs as quietly as possible, but after all, the steps were quite creaky. He sneaked to the fridge and Louisa could hear glass clink together. Then she heard how he put the prepared bottle into the bottle warmer.

Louisa decided that now was a relatively unsuspicious moment to fake waking up. She stirred, then stretched. When she opened her eyes, she found Martin looking over to her.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

"No, that's alright. What am I doing here?"

"Ehm…when I came home, you had fallen asleep on the couch."

"And you made me more comfortable?"

He stiffly straightened his arms and cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"I suppose the milk is warm enough now."

"Have you taken care of Peter, too?" Louisa asked innocently, while getting up and walking over to him.

She tiptoed to give him a peck on the cheek.

"Thank you, for taking care of us."

"Uuhhmm….," Martin cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Maybe you'd better get ready. It's not long until the funeral starts."

_To be continued…_


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

While Martin went upstairs to feed the baby, Louisa decided to make herself useful by fixing some breakfast.

When Martin came downstairs, his son firmly tucked against his shoulder, he was hit immediately by the smell of freshly brewed coffee. During the time they shared the house, Louisa had slowly replaced her instant coffee by some fresh brews. It was one of the few indulgences Martin obviously craved, and Louisa thought that with someone so ascetic as Martin, every sighting of luxury had to be nurtured and cultivated.

"Uhm...coffee." Martin stated the obvious.

"I also prepared some eggs and toast. Hope that's alright."

"Fine."

Well, it wasn't an overwhelming praise, but at least he seemed not to disapprove.

Martin sat down opposite Louisa and started to dissect his egg with a surgeon's precision. He seemed completely focused on the task, not looking up, not seeking eye contact with Louisa.

Louisa, on the other hand, constantly watched Martin. She tried to sense what he might feel, how he was coping with the loss. She was desperate to ask how long he had stayed with Joan, if he was ready to say goodbye, what his plans were to proceed? She really wanted to know, and let him know that she'd be there for him, at his side.

She didn't dare to.

He seemed even more unapproachable than usual. He hadn't just retreated into his shell, it seemed to Louisa that nothing but an empty shell was keeping her company, while the _real_ Martin Ellingham must be somewhere else. Or maybe this _real_ Martin had ever only existed in her wishful thinking.

When Martin had swallowed the last mouthful of toast and was pouring the last bit of coffee down his throat after an uncommunicative and actually quite depressing shared breakfast, Louisa decided that she had to address some practicalities.

"When are you going to leave for church?"

"Why?"

"It's just, I've got to meet with the Women's Association at the farm first, to arrange the buffet, and I was wondering if we should go together or meet at the church."

"Everything's sorted so far. I just have to be there with the other pallbearers."

"Do you have to pick up your aunt?"

"She's coming down from London by car."

"Will you pay a visit to the parlour as long as Joan…I mean…"

"Aunty Joan will be laid out until shortly before the funeral. As I know the village, the great unwashed will parading by just to be sure they don't miss anything. I don't need that."

"Or maybe they were just fond of Joan and want to say goodbye properly?" Louisa couldn't help but to probe him.

"Hm." Martin grunted.

"Why do you dismiss that thought? She was very popular, everyone liked her."

"Great."

"What, Martin?"

Martin looked up, furrowed his brow, and looked down on the now empty plate.

"No, Martin, what is it you hold against the villagers? Joan-wise, I mean."

"Nothing. The village was always _great_ towards Joan. Especially Bert, never paying his bills in time. That selfish couple with their horrid brat, trying to sue her without good reason. The almost blind pensioner with her paralysed husband, trying to make her responsible for their accident. That pompous neighbour of hers, practically threatening her with a shotgun…."

"OK, Martin, I get the picture." Louisa was quite annoyed, and clearing the plates away she uttered. "You do loathe the whole village, don't you?"

"Just facts."

"Yeah, but it's also a fact that the whole Women's Association worked together to organise the food. How do you explain that?"

"It's easy doing things for the dead – they can't do anything against it. And it makes them feel good. But there's no responsibility. An easy way to get absolved for everything they didn't do for the living." Martin sighed, while getting up to help cleaning the table.

Louisa looked over to Martin, searching his face for emotion, trying to figure out if he was angry about those people, desperate or resigned, but his face was a blank.

Louisa realised once more that this man would never fail to astonish her. His view of the world, and people in particular, couldn't be more opposite to hers.

She studied his quiet demeanour thoroughly, while he attended his kitchen duties. He looked worn and tired, but not as harsh and aggressive as he did at times.

Louisa had to agree that there was some truth in what he had said. Dealing with the dead was in many ways easier than with the living – they didn't disappoint you, they didn't show disregard to your good intentions, they didn't talk back.

She also had to give Martin credit for doing everything in his power to help the living, not rarely, keeping them in this category for a while longer, no matter how ill he thought of somebody.

While she had cleaned the plates during this little conversation, he had started to dry them. Now the pile of clean dishes was standing in front of him, and then he picked them up to store them away. When Martin passed Louisa, she followed her impulse to slightly stroke his arm. He withdrew to avoid her touch.

Inwardly sighing, Louisa realised it was probably better to be on safer ground and discuss practicalities.

"As you just have to be at the church for the funeral, do you want to come to the farm with me before?"

"And watch the buzzing business of elderly women? No thanks."

Louisa bit her tongue not to remind him that she would be there, too, and that she wouldn't categorize herself as '_elderly'_. Instead she forced herself to keep a relaxed tone.

"So shall I take Peter with me and we'll meet you at the church, or do you want to have him?"

"If we meet at church, it would be highly impractical to hold Peter with one arm and the coffin with the other."

"Okay." She picked up her son. "So, little Peter is coming with Mummy. We'll make everything perfect, so that Joan would be proud of us."

"Joan is hardly interested in it anymore. It's more important for the greedy villagers."

"Oh no, Aunty Joan will be watching us carefully from the big gate up there, won't she, Peter?" Louisa jiggled her son, who made appreciative noises in response.

Martin groaned and turned towards Louisa, looking at her with angry annoyance. "Don't tell him such…rubbish." Martin scolded her.

"But that's what they say, isn't it? And what would you say to comfort a child?"

"First, Peter doesn't need any comfort. He is far too young to have even the slightest idea about what is going on. Second, I never understood why telling lies should be more comforting than honestly facing the truth."

"You can't know that it is a lie for sure."

"You don't believe this sort of thing?" Martin asked alarmed.

Louisa bit her lip. "Well, it's a nice thought though."

"Gawd! It's also a nice thought that mankind is intelligent. But you have to deal with idiots nonetheless."

"But don't you think it's hard to believe that everything that made a person tick – all the experience, preferences, character, quirks, likes and dislikes – should be vanished from one moment to another, just like that?"

"Well, without any brain activity, I can hardly see where these should come from. Can you?"

"'_There are more things in heaven and earth, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.'_"

"But that was a _play_, Louisa. Shakespeare is not necessarily a fitting reference for brain functions."

"Glad you noticed it's Shakespeare."

"I'm not a complete illiterate."

"No, of course not." Louisa added meekly. Of course he must have excelled in all subjects. He surely had been teacher's pet as a boy. "But what would you tell a child?"

"At that age – nothing."

"No, alright, but when it was older and asks you where the deceased have gone to?"

"Fact is, that as soon as the regeneration of cells stops, the digestive fluids leak into the surrounding tissue and start the so-called auto-digestion…"

"Martin, that's horrid!"

"Yes. It probably is, but things really get nasty when the first flies lay their eggs in the body and…"

"No! I don't want to hear the details. I just meant, it's horrid that you would tell a child that. It would give him nightmares for ages!"

"It's not my fault."

"So whose fault would it be, then?"

"I'm not responsible that nature works that way!" Martin bellowed defensively, making Peter cry.

"Great. Now he'll be fussy for ages. Can't you keep your voice down?"

"If you make me responsible for…"

"Martin, you can't describe these things to children in detail. That would be horrid."

"So lying to them would be so much better, yes?" Martin asked sarcastically.

"Sometimes."

"Great. And what will you do if Peter tells a lie?"

"There _is _a difference in telling a lie or not telling all the gruesome facts."

"And in the name of this difference you invent a nice fairy tale where all people ascend into heaven. It must be enormous if it is to house all the people who have ever died anywhere in this world."

"Why do you always have to be so logical?"

"Anything wrong with that?" Martin asked puzzled.

Louisa just rolled her eyes. She would never understand Martin. Even when it was about his own aunt, who obviously had meant a lot to him, he couldn't keep his logical mind silent and had to think about rotting bodies.

When Louisa wanted to give him what for, her eyes fell on a clock. "Blimey! It's that late already? I've gotta rush."

She pushed Peter into Martin's hand. "Watch him while I get dressed, will you?" Then she vanished up the stairs.

From downstairs, Martin could hear some rummaging, then the bathroom door and finally the shower.

Meanwhile, he held his son closely, getting comfort from the warm little bundle pressed against his chest.

_To be continued…_


	20. Chapter 20

_I hope I don't confuse my readers too much in keep calling "James Henry" still "Peter". I started this story before I knew the real name of their son, and I thought it would be even more confusing if I'd rename the son during this story._

_o-o-o-o-o-o_

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Chapter 20

When Louisa arrived at the farm, many busy hands were already preparing the funeral feast. Louisa found the company of the other woman quite uplifting.

There was a constant chatter. Stories about Joan were exchanged. Stories about her time when she had lost Phil. Approval on how she kept going, running the farm all by herself. Acknowledgments that she had done quite a good job, even though she had been short of money lately, but farms need younger hands to care for them. Especially stronger ones. Some women voiced their disapproval that Martin hadn't lent her a hand, big and strong and healthy as he was.

Louisa firmly defended Martin. He had enough to do running his practise. How could he attend an emergency when he was far out somewhere digging up vegetables?

Some senior members remembered the time Joan had come to the farm. A Londoner greenhorn with naïve ideas about idyllic Cornish countryside. First, the village had eyed her up critically. Newcomers were always suspicious in those days, especially ones from the metropolis. Even more so, when they had been brought up wealthy.

Joan had convinced everyone about her serious love of the Cornish lifestyle and the love for a certain Cornish farmer by working hard on the farm without ever complaining. Phil even gained some envious comments about getting himself such a useful pair of hands. Louisa also learned how everyone expected the sound of little feet soon to be heard on the farm, but it seemed that the couple simply wasn't lucky in that department.

The only younger feet ever to be heard on the farm were dumped at the doorstep each summer.

Some older women even remembered when '_Little Marty_' visited and the fuss Joan and Phil had made of him. They seemed like a cosy little family, only that the always proper, always serious little boy couldn't have been more different than the cheerful, companionable young woman and her down-to-earth, caring husband.

Louisa listened carefully to those old stories. She realised, that she must have met Martin on one of those occasions. It was not very likely that Joan had kept Martin on her farm and never took him into the village, and as her family had always lived in the heart of the village, it was practically impossible not to run into each other. She realised for the first time the age gap between them. When he had visited his aunt's farm for the last time as a kid on the verge of being a teenager, she must have been a very young toddler. No chance to remember him, really. What seemed just like an unimportant couple of years difference now must have made a whole different world back then.

While Louisa was adding finishing touches to the decorations, she found herself imagining how those childhood encounters might have been. She knew that it would be of no use to ask Martin about it. He most probably wouldn't remember any encounters with a local toddler. She realised that there was no one else she could ask. Joan was gone now. Her dad and mum were gone, too, for different reasons. Martin's parents? Somehow they were never mentioned and she got the impression that their only contribution to those holidays was paying for the train fare.

Louisa felt a deep sadness and a sense of abandonment. Although she was living where she had been born, where she was raised and where she had lived almost all her life, with a few exceptions of living in London, she realised that she didn't really have anyone to share personal memories with.

Others she knew talked with their parents and siblings for hours about their family history, bringing back family members in their narratives that had been gone long ago.

She had no one to keep the memory alive. She wasn't even sure she had a family history worth remembering. And when it came to childhood memories, there were hardly any of their schoolmates still living in Portwenn. Most of them had left the village sooner or later, and even when she was still in touch with them, the continuity of memory was always somewhat disrupted.

Martin never shared any memories with her. Louisa painfully realised that most probably the only source of information she might have had, had disappeared now.

The past would most probably remain a closed book, she realised, but now a new chapter had been started. A joined chapter for Martin and Louisa. A chapter titled "Next generation".

She was glad that she had taken her son with her to the farm. He was in the midst of the hustle and bustle, safely tucked in his carrier, and whenever any of the women needed a break or just passed his basket, they cooed at him. Peter was enjoying himself, Louisa thought, reacting positively and with his baby smile to all those familiarly unfamiliar faces.

Louisa sighed contentedly. One thing was for sure – her son wouldn't become such a socially inept recluse, no matter how much he might resemble Martin. She would make sure he would have lots of positive encounters with people, and being there when the female Portwenn community prepared Joan's farewell was part of this. Even though he would never remember this day, community experiences like this would brief his ever learning brain during the first, formative years.

Louisa was thankful to live in the close little village of Portwenn. Days like this made her realise why she never could stand London. In London, you were one of eight million people of all sorts, here she was Louisa Glasson, head teacher, the girl who made it on her own, despite having a tough childhood. She was a person in her own rights, and she was as much responsible for the other villagers as they took care of her if needed. It was a more human way of living.

Right now, the company of the other women was exactly what Louisa needed. They shed tears together, about losing such a committed member of the village. They shared laughs remembering Joan and her outspoken and down-to-earth nature. They didn't sneer about the comforting thought that she might be out there, somewhere, watching bemused at the efforts made all for her. They were touched by the thought that she might be re-united with the husband she had nursed selflessly until his premature death.

This was a way of mourning Louisa could understand. She could share the grief, as well as the gratitude to have known this remarkable woman.

This was different to the cold and detached way Martin tried to handle this.

Louisa thought that this was how the big goodbye should be – remembering fondly and comforting each other.

She found Martin's way quite unhealthy. Well, at least as far as she understood Martin's way to mourn. The only things she knew for certain was that he had become even more unapproachable and that he tended to disappear for hours, minding his own business without being willing to share.

Louisa felt shut out and hurt by this behaviour. Among these women she was part of the mourning, and everyone supported each other. Just as it should be. Besides, in preparing the food and setting they also felt they were doing something for Joan.

Louisa just wondered, what Martin would be doing.

_To be continued…_


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

The women had worked well together, so they had finished the preparations well in time before the funeral. Before they left for church, they sat together for a cup of tea or coffee, chatting happily. Peter reacted to all of the attention by happily kicking with his legs.

Well in time for the funeral, Louisa drove down to the little church by the sea, where the funeral would be.

The church was perfectly decorated and Mrs. Tishell was organising her music sheets at the organ.

Martin and the other pallbearers were waiting outside the church for the car bringing the coffin. Bert was also lingering around, still discussing and complaining about being refused as a pallbearer.

"Listen, Doc. Joan and I, we knew each other for _years_, and not only that we had been very friendly with each other, we were also like business partners since I opened the restaurant. This lady always had the highest respect for me. I resent that I am denied the privilege to pay her my respect in helping her on her last journey."

Martin was standing stiffly, upright as always, and only his curled fingers gave away that he was extremely tense. Listening to the outpourings of busybody Bert didn't help his mood one bit.

"Oh, come off it, Bert!", he finally growled, "We all know that your _respect_ didn't stop you from arguing about every bloody bill you had to pay for perfectly good deliveries. You forced her to lower the price so that she hardly made any profit at all."

"Besides, as your treating physician I outright forbid you to lift heavy weights, and as Joan's nephew I don't want her funeral to be disturbed by you giving yourself a heart attack!"

"But Doc…"

"Shush!"

Again it was Al, trying to diffuse the situation. "Come on, Dad. Leave it. It'll probably be too much for you. And I represent the family business in honouring her, right, Dad?"

"But Al, I simply…" Bert was mumbling on, while Al manoeuvred him towards the chapel, realising that the coffin was still out of sight.

Louisa came towards Martin. His whole appearance didn't show any sign of emotion, although she was pretty sure that inside would be a different matter.

"Any sign of her, yet?", she asked, slipping her hand into his. Martin looked down at the interlocked hands, visibly puzzled.

"No." He looked at his watch. "Ten minutes to go."

He had hardly finished the sentence, when the car came into sight, rumbling along the narrow lane towards the chapel.

William got out and approached Martin with an outstretched hand, which Martin ignored.

"Mr. Shawcross, that was tight timing."

"Sorry, Dr. Ellingham. There were a large number of people wanting to pay their respects to Joan Norton this morning, and I'm not completely familiar with the streets down here yet, so I didn't calculate enough time for these narrow roads." Shawcross turned around to look at the lane leading to the chapel. "Quite an experience for a Londoner."

"Yes." Martin replied brusquely. Louisa looked at him disapprovingly, not knowing that Martin had to control his emotions as Shawcross' comment had reminded him of his Auntie scolding him after his first visit to her farm for being so timid about oncoming traffic on Cornish country lanes.

'_Marty, are you a man or a mouse?'_ he heard her scold him in a sharp tone, but not lacking in love. It was undeniable – the Ellinghams were a tough lot.

To distract himself, Martin concentrated on the task at hand.

"So let's get started then."

Shawcross looked around. "Just _five_ pallbearers."

"Oh, bloody Bert." Martin said through gritted teeth.

"But I thought you didn't want him to be a pallbearer, so I informed him…"

"Yes, that's right, but because he was complaining…"

Just right then, Al appeared in the door. Martin signalled with his arm that he should hurry up.

"Come on, Al. We're waiting for you!"

Al started to jog towards the car. "Sorry, Doc, you know Dad. He's a bit difficult at times."

"Just at times?" Martin muttered.

Louisa felt a bit uneasy, as Martin had let her hand go almost immediately after she slipped her hand into his, and then completely ignored her. While the men gathered around the coffin, she asked him: "So is there anything I can do, or shall I go inside then?"

It was only then that Martin remembered Louisa and his son, standing right beside him.

"Uhm…" Martin looked around helplessly. "I don't think so."

"So I better go inside, then?"

"Uhm…yes." Just then, at the far end of the road, a blue Mercedes came into sight, approaching with elevated speed. "Uhm…oh…wait."

Louisa stopped and turned around. "Yes, Martin?"

"Judging by the way of diving, that must be my aunt. Can you wait for her and lead her inside?"

"Oh, right, sure." Louisa was glad to help and curious to meet this aunt of his.

The car approached quickly and swerved into a parking lot swiftly. Almost immediately, a small, elderly, but very energetic woman got out.

"Hello Martin. You're father's not here, of course."

Louisa noticed several things about this rather unusual greeting.

First, beating around the bush was certainly no Ellingham-habit.

Second, her voice and whole behaviour was almost as brusque as Martin's.

Third, it was strange that she assumed immediately that Joan's own brother certainly did _not_ come to the funeral, although Louisa had no reason to believe that he wasn't physically able to do so.

"No."

"Good."

Gosh, this family used emotions really sparsely. Was there a rationing on the emotion-front? And it seemed that Martin's father must be the worst of the lot, because not only didn't he find it necessary to appear, but everyone seemed to take it for granted and was glad not to see him. Nevertheless, she had heard many positive comments about him after his visit, especially from Pauline and Mark. A true charmer, many said. Very strange.

Louisa stood around awkwardly, waiting to be introduced, but she soon realised that Martin had shifted his attention back to the coffin. So she decided to take the initiative herself.

"Can I introduce myself?"

"You'll have to. He won't." His aunt answered, not at all surprised by his lack of manners.

"I'm Louisa…Glasson."

"Oh, yes. You're the school teacher Joan kept on about. I see you had the child. I'm Ruth, Martin's aunt."

Louisa felt the scrutinising eyes of Ruth Ellingham upon her and felt very uneasy about the way she was being judged by Martin's aunt. She didn't have the loving, caring interest of her sister, but the analytical, cold, scientific judgement of her nephew. It seemed to Louisa, she could see in her all the characteristics she did _not_ like in Martin, without any of the benefits. Well, maybe because his benefits for her lay largely in the physical attraction department, which definitely wouldn't work with his aunt.

Louisa also felt that Ruth disapproved of her and the child, although she couldn't quite tell why. Wasn't it normal for a man to want to have wife and kids someday? Wasn't it more than time for Martin to finally have those? Or wasn't that planned in the Ellingham family? But then again, there wouldn't be a family without this habit.

With mixed emotions Louisa led Ruth Ellingham into church and sat down next to her in the first pew.

Meanwhile, the six pallbearers had shouldered the coffin and started towards the church.

Shawcross was walking in front, impeccably dressed, top hat in hand, at a slow pace. He made sure, that there were no obstacles in the way for the ones bearing the heavy load.

The coffin arrived in church without any mishaps, except for one little disturbance right at the entry, when Penhale's mobile suddenly blurted '_Things can only get better'_. Shawcross turned around, visibly displeased, and Penhale had the nerve to try to finger his mobile. He had even pushed the receive button, but before he could bring this to his ear, almost causing the coffin to slip by his clumsy attempts, Al simply gave the mobile a push causing it to slip out of Penhale's hand and slide over the floor to the other end of the chapel. Penhale was about to protest, when Al hissed: "Shut it, Joe."

From behind, Martin growled "For goodness sake!" while Al pushed Joe forwards, warning him _not_ to try to get his mobile back before the coffin was standing safely in front of the altar.

Finally, the coffin was safely lowered onto the stand, guided by the expertise of William Shawcross, and the pallbearers took their places in the pew.

All but one, as Penhale dashed off the moment he released himself from the load to crawl through the chapel to look for his mobile.

When Al sat down next to his father, Bert nudged his son and said in a voice loud enough to be heard by most of the guests: "I really wonder why Penhale should be a pallbearer instead of me. I wouldn't have caused a turmoil like that moron has."

While Al tried to stop this conversation with a firm "Leave it, Dad", there was another voice from the back of the chapel interrupting what should have been a silent good-bye to Martin's beloved aunt. "3-0-2-1. Lorry crash on the A39. Can you deal?"

The whole congregation had turned around towards Penhale. With an idiotic grin he held his mobile up, beaming. "Fortunately, nothing is broken. Still working."

"Gawd." Moaned Martin, while his aunt looked sternly towards him. "Do they always celebrate funerals with so much style and dignity around here, or is this a special service for Joan?"

Martin showed no reaction, but took the hymn sheet demonstratively. Louisa was paying attention now, as she had never heard Martin sing. She liked his speaking voice very much, especially when he wasn't shouting or making sneering remarks. So she was curious to find out how his singing voice would be.

The organ started and everyone, including Martin, looked at the hymn sheet. When everyone started to sing, Martin just stared at the coffin in silence. Louisa could have sworn that he was swallowing hard. She tried to touch his hand again, but she felt Ruth's eyes upon her just then and felt immediately self-conscious. There was something about this woman that made her feel guilty for no good reason at all.

Just shortly before Martin had to get up to hold the eulogy, Peter started to stir. Louisa tried to calm him down by jiggling him, but he wasn't reacting at all. Instead, he started to cry which developed into a full bawl.

Martin looked at Louisa and the child, and Louisa couldn't help but think that he looked annoyed.

Ruth Ellingham shot her a look of undisguised disdain. "Can't you keep it quiet?"

Hearing her son being referred to as '_it'_ made Louisa's blood boil, but as her son got more and more restless and to avoid a scene at Joan's funeral, she pressed her precious bundle against her chest and made her exit.

She was sorry to miss Martin's speech. If she had known what he was about to say, she wouldn't have been.

_To be continued…_


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

After the services, most of the guests gathered in groups to drive to Joan's farm together, giving at least some of them the opportunity to have a drink in honour of the deceased.

Joan had been a very popular member of the community, so the whole farm was buzzing with people gathering to say good-bye to her. The weather was benevolent, so there was no problem accommodating everyone as they could roam freely around the farm. Buddy was excited by all these people, the interesting mix of smells and especially by well-meaning hands giving him a pat. Only the chickens were not delighted by all this turmoil and were adequately agitated.

Except for the chickens, only one other creature was suffering. Martin Ellingham, nephew of the deceased, had gladly given his aunt Ruth, sister of the deceased, the position of chief mourner. While Ruth had to shake hands of people she didn't know and listen to stories from perfect strangers, Martin tried to find the least populated areas.

Louisa, holding Peter closely, mingled. She sort of took the part of hostess, as Martin's partner, which she supposed she was now. It was always complicated to know where she stood, but now it was more difficult than ever. However, with Martin nowhere to be seen, she thought she'd better keep the villagers happy. Louisa noticed that Ruth Ellingham was not doing a very good job at it.

After everyone had filled himself up nicely for the first time and the most important gossip had been exchanged, the solicitor gathered the people mentioned in the will to meet in the farm house. Louisa slightly touched Martin's sleeve when he disappeared into the house.

"Do you want me to go with you?"

"What for?"

"Moral support, maybe?"

"No. That is…you can, if you want to. But it won't be very interesting, so you don't have to."

"I'd really rather come with you."

Martin grunted. "Right, go ahead then."

Louisa had promised herself to watch silently and only to intervene if she was absolutely certain that Martin needed her. Otherwise, she had planned to be just a spectator, as she wasn't really involved.

Furthermore, she was curious to see how the reading of a will was done. She didn't come from a family where anyone had anything to inherit. The few bits and pieces worth keeping never made the services of a solicitor necessary.

All in all, it was a rather boring matter. There were a handful of people, mostly inheriting something they had admired, or had given to Joan at some point and were basically getting it back. A few minor allowances to very good friends.

Louisa was a bit taken aback to find out Martin also just got a few bits and pieces of sentimental value. Nothing really to speak about. Louisa had heard gossip that Martin had helped Joan out financially at times, she had picked up something about a car insurance, so she really thought he deserved more, but looking at him, she couldn't detect any signs of disappointment or surprise.

Strangely enough, Joan's elder sister seemed to inherit the biggest piece of the cake.

"_The whole farm with all its furnishings, livestock and equipment I leave to my dear sister Ruth Ellingham, hoping that the merits of the country life will lure her out of London and her ghastly job, and give her time to finally write her book that she is always talking about."_

"Bloody Joan." Muttered the heiress.

"And probably all the debts." One of the villagers, whom Joan had regarded as her friend, laughed.

"With how much is this property debited?" Ruth asked anxiously.

"The property is not mortgaged." The solicitor ensured.

The same _friend_ commented that probably the bills where piling everywhere then.

It was then that Martin opened his mouth for the first time.

"There are no debts."

Everyone in the room turned around curiously, looking straight at Martin. The locals discussed that this was hardly possible, as they knew Joan was always struggling to pay only the most important bills.

Ruth Ellingham asked very concerned now. "Are you sure? Before I accept the heritage, I'd rather know how much it will cost me?"

"No debts, no open bills." Martin specified.

There was a murmur of "_Can't be_", "_I can't believe it._", "_Who would have thought."_ and comments like that, while Martin was standing stiff as a stick near the door. Louisa watched this scene with much interest.

Finally, the solicitor managed to quiet everyone down. "Actually, Dr. Martin Ellingham is absolutely right. There are no liabilities connected with the heritage. Does anyone else have any questions?"

There was no response, except that a few people shook their heads.

"May I ask if you accept the heritage?"

This was confirmed by all parties, even when Ruth didn't seem too pleased about her new property.

"Then I think we can join the others at the buffet, what do you think?" The solicitor rather informally ended the meeting.

Martin gestured towards Louisa: "Let's go."

They both left the farm house, but Ruth Ellingham reached them quickly.

"Martin, did you know about this?" There was anger in her voice. Unusual for someone who just inherited a nice, large piece of land with a nice little farm, Louisa thought.

"Yes."

"This bloody woman always wanted to get me out of London – but leaving me her farm is taking it a step too far. Why me?"

"Reasonable choice."

"I'd say, I expected her to leave the farm to you. You always were quite close. Or did anything happen between you two?"

"No."

"Well, I give up." Towards Louisa she continued. "If he doesn't want to talk about anything, you can try as long as you like."

Towards Martin she continued. "And what did she think I should do with a farm?"

"The usual, I suppose – farming."

"Oh, Martin! Thanks for that valuable advice. I think I should get myself a glass of wine and start worrying in the morning."

Louisa looked curiously at Martin. "What was that about?"

"Nothing."

"I can understand that Ruth is puzzled. I also expected that you would be the main heir. I mean, no other relative of hers has ever showed the slightest interest in her. Well, at least not as far as the village knows."

Martin just grunted, pushing his way forward.

"But you didn't seem to be astonished. Did you know about the details of the will?"

"I did."

"So, you didn't mind that Ruth got almost everything?"

"For heaven's sake, Louisa!" Martin was just starting to rant, when his son started to bawl.

"Oops, I think I'd better find an undisturbed spot. Someone wants his lunch."

Martin turned on his heels and pushed people out of the way to lead Louisa and the baby safely back into the house.

After the child was cared for, Louisa joined Martin, who had waited outside the room where she had been nursing and changing the child. He had made sure that no one entered accidentally and possibly caught Louisa while she wasn't decent.

Martin took the child from Louisa and cuddled it close against his shoulder. Louisa couldn't help but smile, seeing the gruff Dr. Ellingham handling his son with so much love and tenderness. It was obvious that he enjoyed it very much, to hold Peter close.

"Let's go." However, was his brusque request.

"Go? Where to, exactly?"

Martin looked around. "Home. Everything's settled."

"We can't leave just yet. People expect us to host the wake."

"_People_ expect enough food and drinks for free. There's plenty of that."

"No they don't, well, maybe they do expect that, too, but mainly they want to talk about Joan, to get a grip on their loss."

"_Their loss._" Martin sneered.

"Yes, Martin. They did lose a valued member of the community. And we're staying."

Martin was just about to protest, when one of the women who had helped with the preparations darted towards Louisa. Martin rolled his eyes when he noticed the lively chatter about trivial things.

Louisa was drawn into several small talks and spent time walking around, talking to several people. All the time, she kept looking around trying to find Martin, who had just disappeared, together with their son.

Louisa forced herself to remain calm. Even when she didn't know where her son was, he was with Martin, and no matter how many faults he might have, he would look carefully after the child. Nevertheless, she would really like to know where they were.

During the conversations she dropped questions asking if anyone had seen Martin or the child, but no one remembered seeing any of them for quite some time.

Finally, Louisa had to find out. She took a glass of white wine from the tray to calm her nerves. She knew she needed it, but also knew it was better to take the opportunity as long as Martin wasn't around. Then she decided to search for them.

_To be continued…_


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

The best bet was that he had gone away from the farm, far enough to escape the bustle. So Louisa left the farmhouse and yard and took the way that led to the Coastal Path. She then had to decide in which direction she would follow it. She decided to try the easiest way first. Although Martin was a stickler for healthy living and advised most patients to take walks along the cliffs, she couldn't remember him taking a walk himself, unless he had to. So she guessed that he'd hardly choose the steeper way, especially not while minding Peter.

After a while, the noise from the wake was just a distant sound, she saw a tall figure standing in a field, watching over the ocean.

For a moment Louisa was unsure if it would be right to approach him. Maybe he needed the solitude. Maybe he needed the silence.

But maybe he needed her, and didn't dare to ask.

She could see that Peter was still resting peacefully against Martin's shoulder, so there was no reason to worry. Martin hadn't noticed her yet, so she watched him a bit more. Like a Greek statue – tall, quiet, solemn, but also so damn attractive, she thought. If she ever had doubts why she was attracted to him, this image proved beyond doubt that she found him quite tasty.

Only Martin could manage to stand in a muddy field in his impeccable suit, his hair too short to be messed up by the coastal wind, and despite the beauty of the surroundings his face was hard as stone.

Louisa came slowly closer. She could see his profile now, while he still hadn't noticed her. He wasn't frowning, as he did so often, and she also couldn't detect signs of grief. His face was serene and thoughtful.

Louisa started to feel uncomfortable about watching Martin like this. She felt a bit sneaky, so she waved towards Martin, calling his name. However, as she was calling against the wind, he hadn't heard her yet. Finally having made up her mind to join him, she walked towards him quickly.

She had almost reached him, when he finally noticed her.

"Louisa? What are you doing here?

"I wanted to ask you the same." She had closed the gap now and put her hand on his arm. "You've chosen a beautiful spot. A beautiful view of the harbour entrance."

"A place for good-byes."

"Is this how you can say good-bye best?"

"No, but Joan could." He remembered the last time he was standing here, not with his son's head resting against his shoulder, but the teary face of his aunt. It wasn't her farewell then, but she was paying her farewell to one she loved. This wasn't the first good-bye she said here. He remembered a picnic blanket laid out near the cliffs, his aunt unpacking treats from the basket, trying to fool around with him but being more distracted than usual.

Then he remembered the pang of jealousy when he had found out decades later that the picnics weren't for him, but only to see John sail away. John, the slimy, smarmy nightmare of his childhood, always belittling him, always stealing his time with his Auntie Joan. John, the great love of his Auntie Joan, who even showed enough decency to leave Joan before she could make a mess of her life. John, who should be dead by now.

But this was something he wouldn't tell Louisa. This was between his aunt and himself. In his book, confidentiality didn't end with the death of one party.

He had told Peter all about it when they had been alone here. Peter wouldn't remember, so he didn't feel guilty about breaching the confidentiality.

He had felt better after leaving all these empty-headed, selfish, free-food engulfing inbreds behind. He had felt better when he could breathe in the clean sea air. He had felt better feeling his son's head rest against his shoulder.

"Can we go home now?"

"Martin, we are the hosts. We can't be the ones to leave first."

"Argh. You didn't come to drag me back to those imbeciles?"

"They are just sharing their grief."

"They are just eating and drinking everything they can manage, because it's for free."

"They were Joan's friends."

"Hardly."

"You know how it is around here. Everyone knows everybody."

"I didn't see any of them when Joan needed help."

Here it was again. They were confronting each other, no one willing to give in. Louisa was fed up with his unsocial behaviour. Why did he have to turn every gesture of normal inter-relationships into something shallow?

Then his last words echoed in her brain. She thought about the main topic among the guests after the will had been read. Louisa looked long and hard at Martin.

"Everyone was puzzled that there are no mortgages or debts on the farm."

"So?"

"They are sure that there were several open bills, and possibly a loan, some even say a hefty one."

"Obviously not."

"Obviously. I was just wondering…." She tried to look Martin in the eyes, but he avoided her look, "…if you have something to do with it."

"With the debts?"

"More the lack of them."

"There are no debts. Fact. I can't understand why everyone insists that there should be some."

"They are not insisting. Just wondering."

"None of their business."

Louisa looked at Martin. He felt uncomfortable, she could see it. If he had paid the debts, why couldn't he admit it? It was a good thing to do. So why be ashamed of it?

"But it was yours. That's what you've been doing the last days – sorting her finances."

"Be assured, I didn't jeopardise the financial support of Peter or you. You both will be fine."

Louisa was really angry now, putting her arms akimbo. "That's not the point! We don't need your money. I'm not worried that you might have spent too much money. If you did settle her debts, then I'm pretty proud of you." She practically shouted at him.

"Good. Right." He shouted back.

Louisa shook her head energetically and looked over the sea. After a moment, she had composed herself. "So what are we quarrelling about?"

"I don't know. I didn't start it." He replied a bit miffed.

"But why did you want to hide it from me? It was a noble thing to do. Especially…you did know that you wouldn't inherit the farm?"

"Goodness, what shall _I_ do with a farm? Joan had the same funny idea. I find all these dirty, germ-riddled creatures disgusting, and I truly have something better to do."

"So she wanted to leave the farm to you?"

"We talked about it."

"So you knew all along – but you wanted to have her things settled."

"What's so strange about that?"

Louisa looked at him, realising even more that she didn't understand this strange man at all. He was nothing like anyone she ever met.

"Martin, you _are_ an extraordinary man."

"No, I'm not."

"That was the noblest thing to do."

"No, it was not."

"Oh yes, Martin Ellingham, but the really extraordinary thing about you is, that you don't even realise. You really think it was the normal thing to do, don't you?"

"Because it was. I don't know what the fuss is all about."

While talking, they had started walking, and without really noticing, they had almost reached the farm again.

Martin was just about to complain, when Chris Parsons rushed towards him.

"Mart, where on earth have you been? I've looked high and low for you!" He shouted excitedly.

Martin was still holding his son with one arm, and gestured with his other into the direction of the field. "Just stretching my legs."

"No time for that! I'm afraid I have to tear you away. Landslide at the Coastal Path. We are running short of medical support at Truro. They were just calling me if I can summon up some extra forces, preferably we'd need another surgeon." Chris looked his old friend deep in the eye. "Do you think you can help us out?"

"How many?" Without noticing, Parsons and Ellingham had sped up and rushed towards the cars, while Louisa tried to stay close behind.

"There was a tracking group right at that time. Sixteen people were involved, most of them with light injuries, two seem to be quite bad."

"Right. Contact number?"

Parson gave him a phone number in Truro hospital, so that Martin could get information while driving down. When Martin opened his car, he realised that he was still holding his son.

"Oh…uhm…." Martin looked confusedly at Peter, contemplating what to do with him, when Louisa finally managed to catch up to them.

"Give him to me."

"Sure." Then Martin looked at his car, realising that they had come down here together. "Shall I go with Chris? You'll need the car to go back."

"Don't worry about us. You'll need the car more. I'll find someone to give me a lift."

"Make sure that the driver is sober and…" Louisa stopped him.

"You'd better go. Don't worry about us. We'll be fine." Then she tiptoed to give him a peck on the cheek. "I'll be waiting for you."

Martin looked flustered for a moment, but then got into the car and dashed off.

Chris Parsons had watched this scene and couldn't help but smile to himself. He'd never thought he would see such a tender, domestic scene with Dr. Martin Ellingham, the brilliant brain they all admired, but the miserable git no one really wanted to have too much to do with. Finally, he thought, life has shown him his human side.

_To be continued…_


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

Martin came home. He had stitched together three people, all with heavy injuries on legs or arms, one also had considerable head wounds. He had felt nauseous at times, but he was able to manage. At least he had proven to himself that he could operate again. Time would tell if they recovered, but for the time being there was nothing more that he could have done. At least, it had taken his thoughts off his terrible loss. Now the emotions were flooding back.

Martin was incredibly tired. Not only tired. It felt that all of his energy had left him. It felt that he had buried his future together with Aunty Joan. He had no clue how he should go on without her. She had been his only support, and in the last days he had realised like he had never before how much he needed her. With the profound grief he had felt, he desperately needed someone to talk with. However, the only person he would have felt confident to talk to was not there anymore. Would never be there anymore.

Incredibly exhausted he made his way up the stairs. It was unbelievable how hard it was to reach the upper landing. He trudged to the end of the hallway to his spare room. He turned the door knob. Nothing. He turned it again. Locked?

Puzzled he stood in front of his door. The only wish that remained in his life was to reach the other side of this door, lie down and never to get up again. He looked around.

Then he slowly and reluctantly made his way to Louisa's room. He knocked. Louisa almost immediately asked him in. He looked a bit puzzled, as there were candles and aroma lamps. Louisa sat on her bed in her pyjamas.

"Uhm, Louisa, there is something wrong with my door. It seems locked."

"Yes, Martin, it is."

"But I haven't locked it, and I don't have the key."

"I have."

He stared at her, still dumb and dazed. "Louisa, I'm truly tired. I want to sleep. Please unlock it."

Louisa leaned forward. "Martin, sorry, there is _no way_ that you will spend this night alone."

"Louisa, please. I won't be of much use to you. Please let me go."

"You don't seem to get it. I want to be of _use _to you."

"You have enough on your plate, with Peter..:"

"He'll spend the night with Mary."

"NO! Louisa, please tell me you haven't. Tell me you haven't sent Peter away for your convenience!"

"I was just thinking of you. You need some rest, some quiet – and I want to be there for you."

"No!" Martin was frantic. "No! NOOO!" He rushed towards Louisa, towering above her he shouted at her. "So my son is already in the way, is he? What is it with you women? Always talking about children, and when they cost a bit of night sleep, they have to be discarded. I _really_ thought you were different." Martin was on his way out.

Louisa jumped from the bed and ran after him, grabbed his upper arm just before he reached the door. "Martin! Where _are_ you going?"

He turned around with fury in his eyes. "To get my son! He shall not be parked at strangers."

"Martin! Please!" She managed to turn him around. "They are hardly strangers, as Mary is the midwife he had seen before and who had cared for him professionally. Besides, are there any better people to look after Peter than William and Mary? Not only that, she knows professionally what to do, but between them they have raised five kids. I'd say they are a bit ahead of us in terms of experience. And, _no_, Peter is no nuisance or burden. Far from it. I love _your_ son from the bottom of my heart – but so I do love you, too."

Martin had stopped, and all kinds of emotions washed over him – tiredness, frustration, pity – for him and his son – grief, helplessness, love – for his son and Louisa – despair, fury and defeat.

"Martin, please believe me, if I'd known you'd take it this way, I wouldn't have accepted Mary's offer. She just thought with the difficult time we'd had lately, it would do us good to have a night for ourselves. You look exhausted."

"I just need some sleep, so please unlock my door."

"The last nights you've spent crying, alone at a farm and bidding good-bye to Joan in a mortuary. You need rest – and comfort. I assure you, both are more easily got here. Please, don't be selfish, let me comfort you."

"But after all I did?"

Louisa put her finger on his lips. "Martin, we're both responsible for how things have been between us lately. Tonight's not about that. Tonight is about you. It's not a weakness to accept help."

Martin's shoulders sank, the fury and anger left his face.

"I…don't want to disturb you."

Louisa had taken his hand and started to pull him towards the bed. "You won't disturb me. In fact, if you disappear alone into your room, I'll be worried sick. I wouldn't be able to sleep out of concern for you. So, please, for _my_ sake, stay tonight and let me take care of you. You'd be doing me a favour."

"I won't be very pleasant company tonight."

"I don't want you to entertain me. Just relax." She managed to make him sit on the bed. "It's silly to ask you, but I have no clue what you do to relax. I have soothing aroma, candles, I can give you a massage, or we could take a relaxing bath. I also have different sorts of music, quiet classic, easy listening, soft jazz – all sorts really. Just tell me what you'd like."

"Louisa, I hardly believe this is the right time to resume ….activities. I really don't feel like it today."

"Martin, the only _activity_ I'm interested in is to make you relax." Louisa reached up to undo his tie.

"What's that for, then?"

"Actually, I took the liberty of getting one of your pairs of pyjamas. If you want to make yourself comfortable?"

"I really don't think so."

"At least remove your tie and jacket. You can't relax buttoned up like that." Louisa slowly undid the two first buttons of his shirt. Then she slowly pulled at Martin's coat, which he allowed her to take off. "So Martin, what do you want? Some music, maybe?"

"Please, Louisa, I just want peace and quiet."

"No bath either, I assume?" He shook his head.

"At least let me give you a massage. You must be tense. It'll help you relax." Louisa rubbed some oil into her hands, then gestured towards Martin to sit in front of her.

"Louisa, I'm too heavy, and too big, and it would be too much for you."

"Shhhh. It's quite alright. You sit here, lean back and relax. If you want to talk, go ahead. You can say whatever you want, and I promise you that I won't be angry or picky or foolish. Just say what comes into your head, without having to guard yourself. If you don't want to talk, then you don't have to."

She pulled him towards her and she started to run her hands over his neck. She could sense his hesitation, but he sat there and kept quiet. Dark clouds hanging over him. She could almost feel his grief, but had promised him that he could remain silent if he chose to do so. Slowly she slid her hands under his shirt to run her hands over his shoulders. She pulled him close, trying to make him lean against her. He suddenly sensed what she was doing and moved forwards, starting to protest.

"Louisa, really, I'm far too heavy."

She put more oil into her hands and drew circles around his temples, trying to lure him to lean back. Slowly he allowed himself to lean back a bit, so much even that he suddenly realised that he was lying heavy against her slender frame. Concerned he moved forwards, but she increased the pressure on his head, tilted it a bit backwards, and then placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. "Martin, I told you. It's OK. Just relax."

Louisa kept massaging him for several minutes in absolute silence. He leant now against her, but she had supported herself against the headboard so that she could manage. She was running her hands over his temples and down his neck, then into his hair at the back of his head. Sometimes, a sigh escaped his mouth and she hoped he released some of his pressure with it. After a considerable time, Martin asked, staring towards the ceiling: "Have you ever lost anyone?"

"Not the way you have, Martin, no. People tend to leave me, but you know that they are somewhere out there."

"Right." He fell silent again. A good 15 minutes passed by before Martin spoke again.

"So what has hurt you most in your life?"

"Honestly – when I told you that I never want to see you again after that fateful concert. It was physical pain. That had hurt me most."

"I see." She couldn't tell if there was any feeling connected with his comment or if there was a wider goal he wanted to achieve with his questions. Silence followed.

"But there was still hope, wasn't there?"

"Yes, Martin, and now we're together again."

"There's no hope for me. I will never see her again." Louisa stopped the massage, put her arms around him and pulled his head towards her chest, stroking his hair gently.

"But you've been there for her as long as you were down here."

"But I was so gruff towards her when she just wanted to share our _last supper_ in Cornwall. I was so…rude…when she tried to force me into fatherhood." Martin lifted his head to look at Louisa.

"You have to let me go."

"But why?"

He went silent once again. Martin was still in her embrace, her finger running over his hair, drawing circles, hoping it might soothe him. She could feel that he still wasn't at ease. Suddenly he withdrew from her embrace.

"No, Louisa. It's of no use. This has to stop."

"What? What's the matter?"

"Can't you see? You're just making it more difficult for me. I'd really better leave now."

"For good?"

He nodded. She laid her hand firmly on his arm.

"Not before you've told me why you suddenly decided that you have to leave. After all you've invested?"

Martin sat on the bed, opposite her, just quietly looking at her. She had started to gently caress his sleeve.

"Martin, I need you. I wouldn't know what to do without you."

"You can manage quite well."

"No, I was wrong. It was…foolish…of me to think I can do it all alone. It's not for nothing that families exist. It takes two to raise a child."

He raised a hand and brushed her cheek gently. "I'm so sorry, but I'm not the right man for starting a family. Sorry that I let you down."

"But that's rubbish! You've done so well! One couldn't ask for a better father."

"Don't fool yourself."

"But you did _everything_. More than I ever hoped you would do."

"I won't be able to be of any use anymore."

She looked at him and tried to find the answer in his eyes.

"Is it because of Joan?"

"Of course it is."

"But why?"

"Do you really think I would have been able to do all that? Do you really think I had any clue what to do?"

"I was wondering, but then – you always were a mystery to me."

"That's just the point. Joan told me what to do and how to do it. She was the only one telling me that I _could_ be a father. She was the one pushing me. She believed that I could learn how to be a father, even when it didn't come natural to me. Maybe because she kind of understood why I am who I am."

"I would have needed her to be able to be a father. She was the only family I ever had. Only with her help I would have had a chance. Without her advice, I will be helpless. I will just hurt you."

"Shhhh, Martin. We'll be fine. Peter will be fine. Joan wouldn't want you to withdraw. She was so happy for you. She was so happy when Peter was born."

"And now she'll never see him grow up. He won't remember her at all." Martin sniffed.

"You can tell him about her. You'll be his memory. She will live in your narration."

"I'm not good at that."

Louisa pulled Martin's head towards her, resting it against her shoulder. They stayed in that embrace for a long time. She could feel Martin's tension subside. He leaned his head against her chest and put his arms around her.

"Oh Louisa, I've lost all the family I ever had." He started crying now. Finally.

"Martin, Peter and I will be your family. We'll be there for you."

"No, Louisa, that's not the same." He shook his head vigorously. "She was the only good thing in my childhood, the only one liking the little boy of eleven who was dumped at her doorstep. She could understand and comfort that confused, sad little chap. She was the only one who wouldn't yell at me when I…I…had one of my _accidents_. She never scolded me, even when it ruined the day on the yacht with John she had been looking forward to so much."

"Louisa, that first holiday when I wasn't allowed to visit her, it was _hell_. I sat there in that room in boarding school. I cried. For two nights and days I cried. There was no one who could hear me. No one who could tease me. All the other boys were at home, with their families. In that whole huge school, there were only four of us that no one wanted. Who were dumped at the school as they were paid to have us. I cried my heart out. I…I don't know, but sometimes I believe I became that miserable old git I'm now during those 48 hours."

"If I could have been with Aunty Joan, I'm sure it wouldn't have happened."

Martin sobbed and Louisa gently stroke his hair, pressing his head against her chest. She didn't say a word. It was not _her _time to speak.

"And I never thanked her for it!" Martin continued in tears. "I never uttered a bloody word! Now I will never have the chance! Why couldn't I have told her?"

"She knew, Martin, she knew you loved her."

"It's your turn now. Now you will be there if Peter has a little _accident_, and when he needs support from bullying mates. You will be for him what she's been to you. You can give the love you received by her into the next generation. Her love, flowing through you to Peter."

"I will miss the way she called me '_Marty'_. No one ever called me that the way she did."

Louisa nodded. There were things in life – stupid little things – that no one could give you but one person. There was no way she could make up for it.

Louisa held Martin's head firmly against her chest while he was crying into her. She quietly kept stroking his hair.

"But why?" He sobbed.

"I don't know. No one knows."

"Why not me?"

Louisa was shocked.

"It just isn't fair! She made a difference to so many people."

"And so do you."

"Yeah, in infuriating them."

"No, in being there when you're needed."

"Not anymore. I'm useless. _She_ was a help to many."

"There's no use in self-accusations. It's not your fault."

"But why her? She was reasonably healthy. She could have lived for years – if the stupid lorry hadn't…" his voice trailed off when he started to cry again.

Again, considerable time passed by before Martin placed his hand on her stomach.

"Are you still sore?"

"Sorry, Martin, I'm really sorry, but I haven't had my all clear yet."

Horrified he sat upright looking her dead in the eye with his panicky look. "Gawd, Lousia, you don't presume…I mean…I didn't….I didn't mean….Oh, do you really think I'm just after _that_?"

"Sorry." Louisa looked down, playing coyly with her hair. "Of course not." She took his hand that he had withdrawn, and placed it back on her belly. Holding her hand above his, she used the other hand again to stroke his hair.

"No, Martin, not much."

"But does it still hurt?"

"No, it doesn't really hurt anymore."

"I felt do sorry for you, in the pub – you know. And I was of no help at all. I'm so sorry for letting you down."

"You didn't let me down. I was glad you were there."

"But I did the worst thing a doctor can do. I panicked. I was out of my mind. So I couldn't function properly. I even risked harming you – with this stupid chair. I'm so sorry."

"I didn't need you as my doctor."

"No, you made that abundantly clear. Especially as I was rubbish that day."

"No, Martin. I needed you as a father. As my partner. I needed your moral support."

"Which I can't give you."

"Which you _did_ give me."

"But…"

"No, Martin. You really were a great help. When I saw you bursting into the pub, saying everything I wanted to hear from you – kissing me, making me feel wanted again, making me hope that I wouldn't have to raise my child alone. Then you let me cling onto you. I don't know what I'd have done without you."

"You made it quite clear that you thought the paramedic was more competent."

"Stop reducing yourself to being my doctor. For medical support, I trusted her more, you're right." Martin looked hurt. "Don't feel offended, but you don't really have a huge record in delivering babies, and, honestly, you were far too emotionally involved. It was far more important that you gave me hope that day. And the feeling of being loved. And I hoped you wouldn't miss the biggest gift there is in life – being responsible for a little life that you created."

"I felt so guilty. You had to go through so much pain – just because I hadn't controlled myself nine months earlier."

She took his head in both her hands and forced him to look at her. "Martin Ellingham, just to get that clear. We are _both_ responsible for this little life. It's not that you raped me or something. We _chose _to make love. Do you remember my question the next morning?"

"You mean if I regretted it?"

"And – do you? Now that you know the consequences?"

"I feel guilty."

"And if I assure you that I am glad to have a child? To have _your_ child?"

"If that's what you want."

"You told me once I'd make a wonderful mother. So you must have known that I always wanted children."

"I didn't assume you wanted me as the father."

"I can't think of a better one. So do you regret?"

"No. I do remember that night fondly. I just wish I had done more to support you."

"Sorry, but I think I'm just as much to blame as you are. I didn't let you."

She kept stroking his hair in silence for some time. After a while she asked him." You see that you have to stay, don't you? I need you. And Peter needs you, too. And you also owe it to Joan. It would have meant so much to her. You are staying, aren't you?"

"If you still want me."

"Very much."

"Then I'll stay. I'll try."

She bent down to kiss the top of his head, his short hair tickling her lips. Then she placed her head onto his and pulled him into a closed embrace.

_To be continued…_


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

The next morning Martin woke up. He was still in Louisa's lap, who had managed to doze off despite the uncomfortable position. It took some time before he realised where he was, and when he did realise, his conscience sneaked in.

Louisa felt Martin stir and woke up. Martin wanted to jump up to leave. Louisa pulled him back, tilting his head to kiss him gently on the cheek.

"Don't Louisa, I'm all scrubby."

"Shhh, that's OK, I don't mind."

Martin drew back. "No, Louisa. Please."

"Just stay in bed a bit longer and relax."

"No. You know what I want. What I really want. First I have a shower and shave, and then we pick up Peter. I really want to have Peter back here. Do you mind?"

"Mind? No, Martin, I do not mind at all!" And she kissed him full on the lips, stubble or not.

o – o – o – o – o – o

Later, after they had picked up Peter, peacefully asleep, and walked through the empty streets of Portwenn, Martin, pushing the pram proudly, asked Louisa: "Can I ask you for one more favour?"

"Sure, fire ahead."

"Well, as it is, I have to tidy up at the farm and, to be honest, I wouldn't like to go there alone." He looked towards Louisa. "It's not that you need to do the work." He quickly added. "Just – for company."

"Sure Martin, no problem, and I'm also glad to help. The two of us can get rid of the mess in no time."

After a stop at Louisa's cottage for a short breakfast and preparing Peter, they drove down to Havenhurst Farm. Martin's heart was heavy. In all probability, it would be the last time he would drive down there. This farm and its inhabitants had accompanied him all of his life. It was almost like a marriage – in sickness and in health, in good times and bad times. This little farm bore so many memories, and to be honest, most of his pleasant memories were connected with this spot. Now, he had to make it clean and tidy, so someone else could take it over.

He swiftly parked his car in front of the farm, like he had done so many times before – but never again. When he got out of the car, he stood beside it for a moment, straight as can be, calmly looking around, breathing every sound, sight and smell in. He saw the fields where he had been stung by a bee, the barn where the dog had bit him, but somehow Aunty Joan had always made it better. Like no one else ever could. Like no one else ever…no, that wasn't right. He turned around to look over to Louisa, who had waited just behind him, not saying a word, cradling their son. There would be someone who could make it better. Louisa could. Louisa had done so the night before.

Solemnly Martin put his arms around her shoulders and led her inside.

"Well, let's see." He looked around, assessing the mess the wake had left behind. "Really! One would think it's the remains of a teenager's party!" Disgusted, he looked at all the empty bottles and glasses, even some half-smoked cigarettes.

"Let's start then!"

Louisa placed the Moses basket into a corner and started to collect the bottles. Martin did the same with the glasses. They worked together companionably without talking more than necessary to coordinate their work. After a few hours, the place was neat and tidy, maybe even more so than when Aunty Joan had been around. By that time, Peter had made it clear that he was in desperate need of attention. Louisa went over to take care of him. Martin offered to make some tea, which Louisa thankfully accepted.

Both tasks done, Martin placed a mug in front of Louisa, then sat opposite her. "Louisa, about last night…"

"Yes, Martin?"

"Thanks."

Louisa looked quietly over to that solemn face. She reached out to touch his hand gently.

"You're welcome."

"It's just, I never…I mean…." He sighed. "I never cried in front of anybody else before, but you didn't say a word. You didn't …" He gulped and looked at the table.

"Of course you cried. You've just lost the person who was as close to you as no one ever was. You're no heartless monster who doesn't care. Of course you felt deserted."

"Uhm, right – but I didn't want to take it for granted that you were there for me. I never felt such comfort than in your arms."

She rubbed is hand slightly. "I'm glad, Martin, but that is what partners are there for, isn't it?"

Martin slowly looked up and caught Louisa's eyes. He sighed. "Louisa. I've never been comforted like that, and I'm sure I am not able to comfort anyone like that. When you need comfort one day, I won't be able to repay you this favour. So…."

"So, what?"

Martin took a deep breath.

"Could you teach me? Teach me to comfort you?"

"Of course, Martin. We'll get there."

"And if Peter needs help, please show me what to do. I want him to experience this…security…you can give."

"Oh, Martin! Maybe you don't know it, but you give me security. When you take me in your arms I feel safe. When you knelt down beside me during the birth, I knew everything would be alright."

"Really?"

"Yes, Martin." Martin took a sip and looked around.

"I will miss this place. Even though I always ran into the beams."

Louisa squeezed his hand. They drank in silence. Martin was sadly looking around. When he poured the second cup, Louisa felt confident to ask the question she hadn't dared to ask three nights before.

"When you sorted out the papers the other night, what were you so engrossed in when I came in?"

Martin looked into her eyes. She couldn't read his expression. Then he silently got up and walked out of the room. Louisa stayed put, watching the doorframe. After a short while Martin came back and silently placed a book in front of Louisa. She opened it and could see that it was a family album. Joan was frightfully young in this photo, beaming into the camera, her hand firmly placed around the waist of a man of considerable size – in all directions. Her other hand rested on the shoulder of a little boy with a stern expression, blonde hair who was wearing a suit, of all things. He seemed a bit frightened.

"You know, I can hardly remember Joan's husband. He must have died frightfully young. Tell me about him." Louisa coaxed Martin into memory lane.

Slowly Martin started to talk about the three people on this photo. At first, he didn't know what to say, stumbling over his words, but as time went by and they turned the pages of the photo album, childhood stories poured out of his mouth. Louisa laughed and cried. Martin had more vivid memories connected with this farm that Louisa thought had been possible. He told her about this feeling of coming home whenever he boarded the train down to Cornwall, Joan's home-baked cakes, the long walks and sand castles, the way Aunty Joan read to him when he lay in bed tired from the Cornish air.

He described Uncle Phil, warm and quiet, always listening to the little problems, the way his huge hand on Martin's back seemed to make things better, the way he forced the little townie to take part in the farm's activities. The way he was taken seriously by them. They let him explain things he had read without belittling him or making him feel precocious.

When they had finished looking through the album, Martin asked if Louisa would accompany him on a little walk around the farm, visiting for the last time the places he connected with those memories. The nearby bay where he stood crying because of the splinter in his finger, the field Joan used to take him to for picnics, partly because she wanted to see her lover off as he learned much later, the field where he had told her about his engagement. Martin was carrying Peter, and Louisa hang at his other harm, listening attentively. She was glad that he was finally talking.

At last, they returned to the farm. Martin washed the mugs they had used and placed them in their usual place. Then he looked around quietly.

"Time to go." He sighed. Louisa squeezed his arm.

"Joan will be with us as long as we remember her. She'll be in the love you give to Peter, as it is _her_ love who made your love for him possible. She's not gone."

Martin silently took Louisa in his arms. How much he liked to believe that, but his scientific brain told him otherwise. Then he took Louisa's hand and Peter and walked towards the door. Louisa followed, but then pulled him back.

"The family album."

"I don't know whom Joan wanted to have it."

"It should be yours, really, as you are the most prominent person in it besides Joan and Phil. What's more, I really would love to have it for Peter. He can meet Joan through this book and the stories you can tell while looking at it."

Martin paused a moment, thinking about it.

"If you think so." He handed Peter to Louisa, then went back to pick up the photo album. He put his arm around Louisa while they left the farm for good and locked it.

After Louisa had secured Peter in the child seat in Martin's Lexus, she turned around, putting her arms around Martin and snuggled close.

"Now you're not leaving, are you?"

"No, not if you will bear with me."

"Oh Martin, of course I'll bear with you! In fact, I don't want to miss you for anything in the world."

He kissed her gently. Louisa sighed contently. Finally he was at peace.

_The end_

_I thank all kind readers, especially those who took their time to comment. It was a huge encouragement._

_My very special thanks goes to my proof reader, fanficfan71, who didn't know what she got herself into when she offered me her help. Thanks for the patience with my stubborn refuses to listen to her advice and for the very quick corrections I always got. All my errors are my own._

_My last but not least thanks goes to Buffalo_ _Pictures for creating such wonderful characters. As __always, it had been fun to play with them for some time. I hope, I'll return them to you undamaged._


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